


Golden Pogues

by Mellowenglishgal



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: F/M, JJ deserves Better, JJ must be protected, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23907709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellowenglishgal/pseuds/Mellowenglishgal
Summary: Paradise on Earth would never be the same. All because of a cursed compass, wheat, a lynching and some mosquitoes. All because of five kids with nothing to do all summer, and nothing to lose by picking up that first breadcrumb and following the trail, wherever it led. Kie, Pope, JJ, John B and twin-sister Liv. A JJ x OC story.*Also posted on FF.net - will be updated at the same time
Relationships: JJ (Outer Banks) / Original Female Character, John B. Routledge / Sarah Cameron, Kiara & John B. Routledge
Comments: 31
Kudos: 139





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work posted to AO3 - there are very few Outer Banks fics on FF.net so I thought I'd post where the traffic is!

**Golden Pogues**

_Prologue_

* * *

What did a cursed compass, wheat, a lynching and mosquitos have in common?

Quite a bit, actually.

Not that they knew it, in the beginning.

Compass. Wheat. A lynching. Mosquitos. Absurd breadcrumbs leading to a lost hoard of $400 million in British gold.

Nearly two hundred years, the wreckage of _The Royal Merchant_ ship and its lost treasure had driven men mad, trying to uncover her watery grave in the Atlantic seabed, and cash in on the fabled gold. It took a dropout orphan with slight ADD from the Cut to link the breadcrumbs all together, with a tenacity that outweighed good sense.

She’d lost her dad to the _Merchant_ first, after a lifetime’s obsession. Ahab and the white whale. And within the same year, John B had followed his fate. Single-minded to the point of recklessness, the both of them, driven to self-destruction in their pursuit of buried treasure. Big John, because it would change their lives in untold ways to find it: John B…because he was haunted by the ghost of their dad, Hamlet-style…and he thought he had nothing to lose.

Nothing but his life. Dead. Both of them. All because of one man’s insatiable greed.

They were dead. Big John and John B. But she had survived - to set things straight, clean up the mess, and watch Ward Cameron be buried alive as the rotten foundations he had built his life on came crumbling down upon him.

It was the one silver lining in all this mess. The glitter of gold in the marsh, as it were.

For once, the kook wouldn’t get away with it.

Not this time. Not with this much blood on his hands.

Not when the story was too ridiculous not to be believed.

Not when they had _evidence_. A drug-dealer getting shotgun pellets removed from his ass in the E.R. A murder in cold-blood caught on camera. And gold bars embossed with wheat.

The discovery of _The Royal Merchant’s_ gold was nothing if not a victory for the Cut.

Finally, _finally_ \- the kooks of Figure Eight got what was due to them.

Epic karmic payback.

Outer Banks was shaken to its core.

Paradise on Earth would never be the same.

All because of a cursed compass, wheat, a lynching and some mosquitoes.

All because of five kids with nothing to do all summer, and nothing to lose by picking up that first breadcrumb and following the trail, wherever it led.

It was bittersweet. They’d found the gold. Some of it. And the rest had been _stolen_.

Still, what did it matter, losing something they had never had?

But losing John B…

Liv had lost her twin-brother.

What did the gold matter?


	2. Aggie's Tantrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very long chapter, 20 Word pages, so brace yourselves! And enjoy...

**Golden Pogues**

_01_

_Aggie’s Tantrum_

* * *

“ _If something burns your soul with purpose and desire, it’s your duty to be reduced to ashes by it. Any other form of existence will be yet another dull book in the library of life_ ” - Charles Bukowski

* * *

Her yawn was cut short by a grunt of pain as she tripped over an unconscious JJ, colliding with the kitchen counter, empty beer-cans clattering across the counter, hitting JJ’s favourite little bird pipe and Kei’s ukulele. _Thanks, JJ_ , she thought, massaging her hip, and glanced down at JJ. He was sprawled on the kitchen-floor fast asleep with his hand still inside a bag of tortilla chips, snoring softly. He looked so peaceful, almost angelic with his fair hair and golden eyelashes. If she didn’t know him better, she’d never suspect he could be such a dick. A loveable one. Like a pit-bull given coffee instead of water and just left to tear around chasing its own tail and aggravating itself - but nothing if not loyal. Especially to those who fed him. She sighed, squatting down, and gently retrieved the bag of chips.

If John B didn’t eat everything in the pantry, it was because JJ had gotten to it first.

She was just lucky she got a free meal every shift at the diner.

Liv gazed down at JJ, seriously contemplating just dragging him by his ankles out of the kitchen. She filled a glass with water, relieved at least that they still had running-water, and gazed around the open-plan living area. The sofa was still made up; JJ hadn’t even made it past the kitchen before passing out, hadn’t unfolded the sofa-bed, his usual haunt. He spent more time on their couch than at home.

And DCS worried about her and John B?! Ridiculous. She knelt down beside JJ, smiling to herself, and leaned in to gently stroke her fingertip down his nose.

“JJ,” she cooed softly. When he was like this - sleeping, relaxed - he was almost smiling; his little dimple winked. Here, he was safe.

John B…he was living in denial. But Liv was doing her utmost to make sure she could stay at home. If that meant jumping through some bullshit legal hoops until she had paperwork signed, so be it. And it wasn’t just…her - she didn’t want to think what’d happen to JJ if she and John B were forced to the mainland. With his _dad_ … The Château was _their_ safe-place - and that included JJ, and always had, since they were eight years old.

She kept stroking his nose gently, until he snorted and swatted a hand reflexively.

“JJ,” she murmured, gently rousing him.

“Liv?” he sighed, blinking up at her like a sloth.

“Morning, sweet pea.”

“Time is it?” he slurred, eyes sliding closed again.

“A quarter after three,” she said, checking her watch, and he grimaced. Just by the look of him, she knew he was still drunk from the party that had continued outside her bedroom long after she went to bed. Hoops; she had to jump through them. “I gotta get to work.”

JJ hauled himself off the floor, sighing, and kneaded his hands into his eyes. “It’s summer.”

“And the pickin’s are _lush_ ,” Liv said, smiling. JJ peered at her, eyes a little bloodshot.

“Can I have your bed?” he muttered, pouting at her and making a little puppy-dog whining noise.

“Why I woke you,” she said quietly, pulling her overnight oats from the icebox they were using in lieu of a working refrigerator. The power was still out across the Cut, and would be - all summer, most likely. She didn’t fully get why she still had to pay the electricity bill when they literally were cut off from the power. Still… “Let me just…” As JJ clambered off the floor, she carried her oats into her bedroom, the one room in the house in pristine condition. She and John B had never had much by way of material possessions - their pride and joy was the _HMS Pogue_ \- but if it hadn’t been for her constant efforts, they would likely have been buried beneath the debris of nine months of their friends’ constant partying. She kept the house tidy; John B had made it his mission to encourage JJ and Pope to make it as messy as possible again. But her room - her room was spotless, and JJ sank onto the bed with a soft smile.

“Smells so _good_ in here,” he sighed, relaxing onto the mattress, no need for the sheet she always slept beneath. Even with all the blinds closed and the windows open to coax in any breeze they could capture, the house was a sweatbox. But she had always preferred being too hot to too cold.

“So don’t start farting,” she muttered, going to her dresser, pulling out her LED compact-mirror, a birthday gift from one of her babysitting clients up on Figure Eight, with a bunch of pretty makeup way out of her price-range.

“You got a hot date waiting for you at the diner or something?” JJ asked, propped up against her pillows, seeming to wake up a little more as he watched her dab on a little concealer and buff in crème blush.

“What?”

“Why’re you putting on makeup?” he asked.

“I get better tips when I wear makeup,” Liv sighed. JJ grunted.

“So makeup’s like an investment?”

“Yeah, I get a great return,” Liv said drily.

“You know what else helps; a push-up bra,” JJ said, his smile simultaneously sweet and suggestive, wiggling his eyebrows.

“It’s too hot for underwire,” she grumbled. She flicked mascara through her curled lashes, and gave JJ a grumpy look, tugging the top drawer of her dresser open. He was right, of course. And it was tourist season. Everyone thought they could score with the pretty waitress. Sighing, she stripped off her t-shirt, tossing it over JJ’s head as he gaped, blinking rapidly, while she clasped one of her plain nude push-up bras on. She hated bras. _Hated_ bras! But she’d be an idiot not to use her natural assets.

“Thank you,” JJ muttered.

“What?” Liv raised an eyebrow at him.

“Just…thank you,” he said, smiling dazedly.

“JJ. They’re just boobs. You’ve seen ‘em before.” Liv rolled her eyes, smiling as he played tug-of-war with her t-shirt, suddenly wide-awake, his dimple winking as he smiled up at her.

“Come on, little pup,” she said. “Let go of the toy.”

“Little pup?” JJ raised his eyebrows, smirking as he flounced back on the bed, sighing. “You’ve seen the bone I can bury.”

Liv laughed as she finished her minimalist makeup, JJ’s breathing becoming soft and steady again. They had grown up together, and had a _very_ relaxed view on nudity, given the fact they were usually in varying degrees of partial-nudity anyway. Especially when they were surfing, there was always a danger of wardrobe malfunctions - for all of them. They’d all sneaked a peek. And locked doors did not exist at the Chateau; the Pogues frequently walked in on each other in the bath or taking a shower so they could use the toilet. It was what it was.

Still…

“Don’t do anything gross in my bed,” she warned JJ, rumpling his hair before tugging her t-shirt back on. He chuckled softly, half-asleep already, and she adjusted her bra with an uncomfortable grimace, and her hair, which she had tugged up into her customary bun with her precious _Invisibobble_. She shared John B’s incredibly thick hair - hers had an insane unruly curl to it and was much lighter, already sun-bleached, wispy pale-gold bits glinting at her temples, darker, short corkscrew curls escaping at the nape of her neck. Nothing she could be bothered to deal with.

She cast a glance at the long mirror on the back of her bedroom-door - as much as she could see in the silvered light of her little LED mirror. The diner’s uniform of a plain white t-shirt with a logo on the left breast, and denim shorts for summer - not so short as to be indecent, but short enough to get that extra few dollars’ tip as gross diners leered at her walking away - and sneakers. Always sneakers.

Gathering up her oats to finish the bowl, she rinsed out the dish and drank another glass of water, checking the knots in her shoelaces, grabbing her book and a change of clothes and stuffing them into her backpack. She frowned, observing the mess in the living-room again. She was so used to it by now that the noise and her friends’ laughter didn’t wake her. She could’ve slept through the hurricane, too, if she hadn’t been out surfing the surge with the boys.

If they were gonna do stupid shit, well, she’d rather be there with them, making memories. She was here for a good time, not a long time. And really, what else did they have to live for? Her and John B and JJ? Yeah, she was doing her best to be granted emancipation, proving she was more than capable of looking after herself. But, hell, the best they could ever hope for was _the perfect day_ \- surfing the perfect wave, cooking fresh fish over the grill, listening to music and falling asleep in the hammock together. _Perfection_. And it was all that would ever be achievable for them, the unloved, the abused and forgotten. Their lives would be a dog-fight to survive: Cutting corners, scraping by, hustling.

Surprising herself, she’d become quite the hustler the last nine months, ever since her dad disappeared. John B still maintained that he was alive; that one day Dad would just come walking up the porch steps into the Château, dropping antique gold on the dining-table and announcing that they were buying land in South America, and until they’d built a house down there, here, have a gorgeous custom surfboard. Go quit your job and spend all your days surfing and fishing and swimming and partying, and never worry about paying the electric bill, or the last of the mortgage, or filling the pantry. Or DCS, circling like sharks who thought they were nothing more than chum. She’d _told_ John B, until she was blue in the face; they had to stay in school, act normal, give nobody any reason to question what was going on at home, that they were in fact living as adults, pooling their income to support the house and themselves. Idiot.

Pope was the brains of their outfit, no question, at least academically. JJ had street-smarts down, but when it came to common sense, even Kei could be reckless. It fell to Liv sometimes to think ahead. But really, she was only thinking of how to get those boxes checked so she could stay in her home, in the Château, with John B and JJ. When her friends were having the time of their lives, well…she wasn’t going to miss out. She had worked out a _balance_. She figured that was the secret to adulthood: Balancing responsibility with desire.

Show up for work early: Smoke pot on your days off, go surfing, fish, spend all day in the hammock reading. Save up for new paints, _after_ settling the electric bill, filling the tank of the _RMS Pogue_ , stocking the pantry.

Liv had no intention of throwing away what meagre future she could carve out for herself. They had the house, and she had her brother, their family. The Pogues. She wasn’t going to jeopardise that: She had stayed in school, committed to getting her diploma, all while working two part-time jobs and hustling on the side - baking; manicures during lunch at school; cooking meals-on-wheels for vulnerable neighbours; delivering groceries; babysitting… She made more in a night babysitting spoiled kook brats than she did in a week at the diner. But that was okay.

She knew she would have had a harder time of it without her looks. Dad had always teased that she wasn’t his kid, couldn’t be; she wasn’t born of this world. He said he’d been out fishing one morning and found her on the end of the line. His little mermaid, princess of Atlantis. Because she looked nothing like her dad, and only a tiny bit like the photograph of mommy dearest on the wall. Her and John B, well, they had their looks, if nothing else. And she was more than happy to capitalise on hers. She was no fool.

It was insane what a difference it made to people’s perceptions of her, putting up her hair in a subtly sexy way that left people wondering if she’d just rolled out of bed, dabbing on a little crème blush, some mascara, wearing some fake pearl earrings, a simple, modest sundress, as if she was a _kook_. She looked clean and pretty and sweet, and trustworthy: Without a physical reminder of her _otherness_ , they quickly forgot she was from the Cut. People trusted her to look after their kids - and she did; she had a reputation as being the best babysitter for a reason. Kids loved her. Especially little kook kids: She paid _attention_ to them, something she had noticed was sorely lacking among kids whose parents thought _parenting_ meant throwing money at their children, rather than spending any time on them. She actually liked playing with them: It was escapism in its purest, most innocent form.

She refilled her glass for a third time, and padded into John B’s room, where he lay snoring. Gently, she tipped the glass and sprinkled water over his face.

“What the fuck?” he grunted, snorted and twitching as the water splashed his face, jerking awake.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she cooed. “Hey, what’re you up to today?”

“ _Fishing_ ,” John B sighed, already half-asleep.

“Okay, well, you reckon you could fit in feeding the babies, in between your busy schedule?” Liv asked, and John B grunted noncommittally. “ _John B_.” She sprinkled more water, and he glared up at her. “Come on - and tidy up after yourself. Last thing we need is DCS showing up unannounced with blunts lying around between all the empty beer-bottles. I’ll see what Caius will give me for lunch.”

“Don’t let those assholes welch on their tips today,” John B called, and Pope, asleep in the porch, snorted, but didn’t wake as she clattered down the steps, the screen-door swinging, the brittle sun-burned grass crunching underfoot as she found her bicycle in the dark. It was an old-fashioned bike, with a basket on the front: Her last birthday-present from her dad. He knew she’d liked going to the public library and cycling home with the books in the basket, like she was an adolescent Matilda.

For a second, she surveyed their own paradise on earth. The Château, and their land. Some of the girls were already awake, clucking in the coop. Two of their dad’s old boats that had seen way better days had probably actually protected the porch from the worst of Agatha when she threw her tantrum, but there was a tree down. They’d saw it into smaller chunks and use an axe to split it, leave it in one of the lean-tos to dry out for use next year. That was the thing about living in the Cut: They grew up knowing how to adapt and survive natural disasters.

Yes, yesterday Agatha had struck the island. But one thing could always be counted on after a storm: Rattled nerves needed soothing. And nothing did that better than comfort food. The diner was an institution on the Outer Banks, and Liv knew she was truly lucky to be working even a half-shift every day, prepping in the kitchen before opening, waiting tables during the very first wave of breakfast diners - there were three. The six a.m. crowd; the eight-thirty crowd; and the ten o’clock brunch crowd. She preferred the early crowd, an assortment of working-class people - her friends and neighbours - who came in from overnight fishing or had just finished their shifts at the hotels, and wealthy older gentlemen headed out to the links after a steak breakfast - elderly retirees, most of them, an older generation who had been raised with _manners_ , treating the busboy the same as they’d treat the President, because how would anyone respect you when you treated them like garbage? They didn’t leer, but they tipped very generously, and she had her favourites, knew orders by heart.

“How are you doin’, Olivee?” There was always a broad smile for her from the owner and head cook, Caius, teeth gleaming white in his dark, kindly face, after she had tucked her things into the staff-room upstairs.

“I’m good, Mr Jones,” she said politely, smiling, and tugging a hairnet on, careful to wash her hands before donning gloves. “How bad were you hit?”

“Not too bad; glad to be here, with the generators,” Caius said; the machines were already working, the diner cool.

“Amen to A.C.,” she sighed appreciatively, and Caius chuckled.

“You left your brother tidying up?” Caius asked, and Liv laughed as she started her morning prep routine.

“Yeah, I’ll go home after this shift to a fried-chicken spread for lunch, too,” she said, dimpling, and Caius chuckled.

“You need to whack him with a spoon, that’s what my momma always did with me,” Caius told her, and Liv beamed.

“John B’s _spry_ ,” she said.

“He still working for Ward Cameron?” Caius asked, chuckling, and Liv nodded. He had struck gold, working for the Camerons. They weren’t exactly throwing away money on their staff - and, they definitely were _staff_ and were treated as such - but they paid a fair wage even to underage John B.

“He is,” Liv said; he’d had the job since before Dad had disappeared, prepping or repairing all Ward and Rafe Cameron’s toys for the summer. And for just as long, Rafe Cameron and his kook friends had been world-class dicks to John B. There was a good measure of jealousy behind their hostility: with John B’s looks and natural charisma, people tended to flock to him. Girls especially felt _safe_ around him; he was courteous and never, _ever_ pushy.

While John B worked for Ward Cameron, Caius had given Liv the lucrative early-morning prep-and-breakfast shift when it was clear that her dad wasn’t going to reappear any time soon; and, though she had never mentioned it, everybody knew her uncle hadn’t set foot in the Outer Banks in months. She needed the money, but she also had school. The half-shift from half-past four to half-past seven, though only a few hours long, was ideal, and had kept her going: She helped do prep in the kitchen, then set up the diner for opening at six a.m. Outside of school vacations, she headed out from the diner at half-past seven and cycled to school, and was usually in bed by seven o’clock, unless she was babysitting. Weekends were different, putting in full shifts; and vacations were the best.

She was accumulating a ‘squirrel-fund’ to get them through the winter, through selling her baking, and cooking meals (she wouldn’t be able to do that until they regained power); giving manicures; delivering groceries; babysitting; putting in shifts at the Kids’ Clubs; lifeguarding; and selling her paintings to tourists at the beach whenever she wasn’t working. She was getting very quick at doing pretty little colourful portraits. She had even sold a few of her paintings as postcards and prints at a favourite tourist gift-shop, and didn’t mind that they marked up the price three times what they’d paid her for them - it was better than nothing. And the artist in her loved that people actually _bought_ them!

They were doing alright. They weren’t _thriving_ , by any means - they were from the Cut. They were used to the daily grind. But there was a permanent knot in the pit of her stomach, three little letters burned into the coiled, churning links: _DCS_. Freaking nightmare.

“Well, that’s good for John B; the Camerons will need all hands on deck to get their property prettied up,” Caius remarked, and Liv laughed softly.

“When the fishing’s as good as it’s gonna be today, after that storm? C’mon, Caius! I may not get fried chicken for lunch but we’ll be eating fresh crab for dinner!” she laughed. Mr Cameron couldn’t pay John B overtime, cash-in-hand, if John B didn’t show up to offer to help clean up. Caius laughed; he remembered being young, with no responsibilities - just the beach, the _surf_ , losing time fishing, letting the world pass them by. _Nirvana_.

“They picking you up after your shift?” Caius asked, smiling, and Liv nodded eagerly.

“They better be,” she said excitedly. She… _liked_ working: She liked the fulfilment of a hectic shift - it made relaxing with the Pogues afterward so much more enjoyable, out surfing or swimming, or swinging gently in the hammock as JJ massaged her feet and her and Pope did another crossword, listening to Kei murmur lyrics for her hypothetical double-album, and John B prepared the fish to grill for dinner. Did anything taste better than freshly-caught fish fried over an open flame?

* * *

Her half-shift passed way too quickly - she stayed until nine a.m. to help out Caius, short-staffed due to the storm, tucked her tips into the _Ziploc_ baggie she kept her cell-phone in, gathered the rest of her things, already changed into her beach gear, and darted out of the diner, jogging down to the end of the pier, grinning as the JJ wolf-whistled and waved from the _HMS Pogue_ , idling, waiting for her.

“Your chariot, my lady,” he grinned, holding out his hand to help her into the boat.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” she smiled, as he took the bag of food from her, and she hopped into the _Pogue_.

“Good shift?” John B asked, as JJ poked his nose into the carrier-bag.

“People were especially grateful to be alive this morning,” Liv said, grinning. “Weird how a storm can make people so hungry. Caius is gonna be busy all summer, especially if the Cut’s out of power.”

“What do you mean, ‘if’,” JJ muttered, and she swatted gently at his hands as JJ dug into the bag.

“Hey! Wait ‘til the others are here,” she said, tucking the bag under her legs, rummaging in her backpack for her _Altoids_ -tin paint-set and her smaller sketchbook, nearly full.

“Hey, what’d you bring us?” John B asked, jerking his chin at the bag.

“A BLT, some grilled-cheese, cinnamon rolls, fresh fruit,” Liv said, and JJ pumped his fists in victory. “You check out the damage at the Château? We can saw up that tree for firewood.”

“Yeah,” John B nodded. “Hey, wanna sweet-talk Heyward so we can borrow the chainsaw?”

“I can try,” she said evasively. “But you two are gonna have to watch your damn mouths around him. I’m lookin’ at you, JJ. Hey, before we get the others - can we stop by Mrs Crain’s?”

“Why?!”

“She’s an axe-murderer!” JJ spluttered, gaping at her.

“She’s a lonely old lady,” Liv said, rolling her eyes. Every kid in Kildare County had grown up on the horror-stories surrounding Mrs Crain and her haunted mansion. But Liv’s dad had visited Mrs Crain every week, ever since he was their age, checking the house was sound, doing any maintenance needed, getting a grocery-list, and spending precious _time_ with her. She was a lonely, frail old lady in an echoey old house full of memories of happier times. After her dad went missing, Liv had started to check in on Mrs Crain, who wasn’t nearly as scary as the stories made her out to be - she was just… _sad_. Now Liv spent an afternoon and one evening with her every week, and she knew for certain Mrs Crain looked forward to her visits as her only company all week. Liv dropped off groceries, and had a music lesson while a cake baked in the oven for Mrs Crain to enjoy. Mrs Crain was half-blind and arthritic, but she still loved music - she had been a music teacher in a past life, and she liked to listen to Liv playing the guitar and singing, and practicing the cello, the only time Liv had access to one. She had a beautiful piano, too, which Liv was better at than the cello.

“Yeah, she’s lonely - ‘coz she _killed her husband_ ,” JJ enunciated.

“You need to stop smoking so much, JJ,” she said, and John B grinned, steering them toward Mrs Crain’s property. “You know, you two could offer to do some yard-work this summer.”

“Right. And if we go missing, just keep an eye out for our body-parts littered under the begonia,” John B said.

“That’s a lot of effort, J.B., and she’s get older; most likely she’d leave your body to decompose in the basement,” Liv sniffed, resting back as John B steered.

“What the hell is a begonia?” JJ muttered.

“You know those flowers Livi grows in pots at the Château,” John B said, and JJ pulled a face.

“I thought you sell those,” he said, turning to Liv as they coasted through the water, so tranquil no-one would have believed Agatha’s fury if they hadn’t endured it.

“Try to,” Liv shrugged. “You know who gave me the first one? Mrs Crain. I was like, what, twelve, John B?”

“Probably,” John B said, adjusting his sunglasses.

“It was our birthday. She gave me music lessons and a begonia cutting. What’d Mrs Crain give you?”

“Baseball mitt,” John B said.

“That’s right,” Liv smiled.

“Still terrifying,” John B muttered, JJ nodding his vehement agreement as they drew up to the pier leading to Mrs Crain’s property.

“Bunch of babies,” Liv muttered, as JJ moored the _Pogue_ , hitching the line to the cleat at the end of the dock. She used JJ for balance, climbing out of the _Pogue_ , and jogged up the pier. “Jeez…” she muttered, shaking her head, as she picked her way through the debris that had blown across the lawn. The flowerbeds that were Mrs Crain’s treasures - for the vividly coloured, intensely perfumed flowers that brought her joy - were limp; but they recovered, year after year. Her garden furniture had been scattered, and some of her potted-plants had been knocked over, her wraparound porch a mess.

“I love it when she runs away,” JJ murmured, watching Liv’s long legs flash in the sunshine, already deeply tanned.

“Gross, dude,” John B said, swatting at JJ with his sun-bleached baseball cap, but otherwise not moving: It was too hot - and John Be was used to JJ _admiring_ his twin-sister.

“I’m _appreciating_ your sister, man,” JJ shrugged, sighing, as he watched Liv disappear beyond the lush greenery. Into _Mrs Crain’s_ house… He stifled a shudder, in spite of the sun beating down on them, all but hissing against his skin. “I’m just sayin’…”

“I hear what you’re sayin’,” John B said, crinkling his nose, “and I don’t care to know what you’re thinkin’.” JJ grinned, tongue between his teeth. He yawned widely, the sun beating down, and the water lapped gently against the sides of the _Pogue_ , lulling. It was peaceful, away from the inevitable machinery that came out after a storm, to clean up Figure Eight as quickly as possible.

“Can’t _wait_ to get in the water,” JJ groaned, his skin sizzling. He wasn’t likely to have running water at home - the Château was lucky, in that regard; it was one of the many things it had going for it. But they had been out for an hour and already it was way too hot.

“I’m gonna catch some fish, man,” John B murmured, adjusting his cap. Why he always wore it with the bill shoved backwards, JJ didn’t know.

“Grill it tonight?”

“Yeah. Freezer’s turned into a slushy; we gotta eat everything,” John B sighed.

“Food’s not gonna last that long,” JJ remarked. He knew from experience: Every time Luke snorted their utilities money, the contents of the refrigerator spoiled. “Liv won’t be happy.”

“No,” John B agreed. “Still - ice-cream cake for breakfast!”

“Where’d Liv hide an ice-cream cake in the freezer?” JJ asked curiously.

“Under the frozen spinach.”

“Right,” JJ nodded. She was a wily one. “You know, the only thing stopping Liv from being a kook is us.”

“Bite your tongue,” John B frowned. “She wouldn’t thank you to hear that comin’ out of your mouth.”

“I know it,” JJ sighed. “Seriously, though…if anyone could make the leap over to the North Side, it’d be her.”

“What, become some douche-bag kook’s starter-wife?” John B scoffed. “I don’t think so. She has way too much self-respect for that.”

“Hey, has that asshole been sniffin’ around her again?”

“Not that she’s said,” John B muttered. But that didn’t mean anything, JJ knew: Liv was too smart to tell John B if she was having an issue with kooks - she knew it’d end in a fistfight and _John B_ would end up the one in trouble with the cops, not the handsy, belligerent douchebag kooks who lurked around her like slobbering hyenas. She’d started getting hassle the day she turned fourteen, and it had only gotten worse over the years. It was nothing she couldn’t ordinarily handle, nipping things in the bud before dudes got the wrong idea, but… _kooks_ , man. They just did not know when to back off. They thought their money meant they were entitled to anything they wanted - regardless how Liv felt about them.

And JJ didn’t like that Topper kept mad-dogging her every time he and his kook buddies saw them around. The rest of them might as well be invisible, which JJ was fine with; it meant less trouble for him - but Liv, they liked to flirt with. It was getting past the point of harmless, fumbling attempts to get close to her, and…JJ didn’t like the way they ignored the neon signs saying _back off_. And then tried to turn it around on her when she had to firmly put them down. As if they’d never heard ‘no’ before, and she was ungrateful for their attention and rude, for putting them in their places.

Liv said it was because they _hadn’t_ heard the word ‘no’. Certainly not from Mommy, so why would they hear it from someone they considered trash, worth only what she could do for them? Something to throw away after they’d gotten bored with it - a new toy, quickly forgotten when a shinier, untouched model appeared. She was wise, saw right through a lot of kook bullshit, thankfully - a lot of other girls they knew weren’t so wise, and that was one of a long list of reasons JJ hated those pricks.

“I’ve seen him hanging around Sarah Cameron a lot,” JJ muttered thoughtfully. Hopefully, he had finally gotten the message and abandoned his futile attempts to get into Liv’s bikini-bottoms.

“Yeah; they’re dating,” John B said grimly, reaching for the bag of sunflower seeds they kept in the hold, with huge old _Gatorade_ bottles refilled with water. With Kie hanging around, they daren’t throw plastic away: Reduce, reuse, recycle, as Jason Momoa would have them do. “He’s been hanging out on _The Druthers_ for weeks.”

“ _Fun_!” JJ quipped, and John B pulled a face.

“Yeah, like a root-canal,” he muttered.

“You think Liv would ever see anything in a guy like that?” JJ asked, pretending like he didn’t care about the answer.

“You mean besides the money and the yachts and the parties and second homes?”

“Yeah, like a kook.”

“Not the ones _we_ know,” John B said, and JJ nodded to himself, adjusting his sunglasses as sweat dripped down his forehead. It was hot as balls, already. He didn’t know how Liv always looked so cheerful and fresh - as if humidity didn’t even touch her. Or how she could be so happy and smiling and _awake_ even though she was up before the crack of dawn to get to the diner. Seriously. She woke up and that was it: She was wide-awake. It took JJ an hour before he felt human enough to stagger out of the Château - hangovers didn’t help, of course. “And especially not one who’s gonna end up the Kook Princess’s sloppy seconds.”

“Sarah Cameron’s like a revolving door, man,” JJ snickered. “What is Topper, like, the third guy this summer, already? And school’s literally just let out.”

“Yeah, that’s about the average,” John B smirked. “Hey, your cousin got the ice-cream truck runnin’ yet?”

“Are you kidding? Tourist season in full swing, _and_ the kooks back from their fancy-ass boarding schools?” JJ grinned. Every summer, his cousin managed to get an ancient ice-cream van out from under the lean-to and filled it with beer, weed, cigarettes and firecrackers that they sold alongside ice-pops, sodas, chips, sunscreen, condoms and a few other select menu items that people had to know about to order. Thing was, people were intimidated by JJ’s cousin. Not Liv: they _adored_ her. So she stood at the window of the ice-cream van, taking orders, while his cousin checked the police-scanner to keep two steps ahead of the cops, and continued being of service to their community. Approachable and sweet, and _beautiful_ , Liv coaxed people to the van: JJ’s cousin showed his appreciation in cash, in booze and in weed - and by not hitting on Liv. “She knows the fine art of the hustle.”

JJ had learned the art of the hustle very young: and he was more than happy to pass on all he’d learned to Liv, who was determined to keep herself from sinking after her dad disappeared. He said _disappeared_ \- because that was what John B still believed. Liv… Well, JJ had been witness to some of the few fights the twins ever had: And if they fought, it was either over John B’s attitude toward DCS’s threats to exile him to the mainland, or Big John.

John B had refused to sign the papers declaring their dad dead: So Liv had, declaring it was the only way to move things forward for them, with Big John’s will, securing their own living situation. She was pursuing emancipation; John B still thought Big John would reappear any day.

JJ, well…he knew none of them had ever had that much luck. Certainly not the good kind. He didn’t want to hurt John B, but he also didn’t approve of his best-friend living in denial, flat-out refusing to listen to the evidence, or good sense. And coming from JJ, that said a lot. He was worried about his best-friend. And he knew whenever they fought, whatever Liv said came from a place of deep worry for her twin-brother, too, no matter how John B chose to take it.

She worried he’d be taken away without warning, just as Big John had - and she blamed John B, for doing nothing to help himself - and save her the heartache.

John B couldn’t see that, though; he was too close. But JJ saw it. And he saw how hard Liv was working, to keep their tiny family together.

“Liv’s not a hustler; okay, she’s an _entrepreneur_ , thank you very much,” John B grinned, and JJ scoffed. She was a hustler in the making, at the very least. And with a face like Liv’s, and those _lips_ that made a man lose good sense, she got away with a hell of a lot more than they ever could. “What is taking her so long? Go, run up to the house and check she’s not been hacked to pieces.”

“What? She’s _your_ sister - you go!” JJ said.

“ _Pussy_. Fine - oh, look, there she is!”

“She’s waving,” JJ observed, as Liv reappeared at the other end of the pier. “Why is she waving?”

“I don’t know…” John B murmured, adjusting his cap to gaze down the pier. “But she’s not movin’. Guess that means we’ve gotta haul our asses to the axe-murderess’s house.”

“I’m not goin’ in there,” JJ protested.

“Come on - Mrs Crain’s had like nine months to despatch Liv into teeny tiny pieces, and she hasn’t so far.”

“Yeah, ‘coz she only likes killing _dudes_ , man,” JJ said, and John B laughed as he hopped out of the _Pogue_.

“C’mon, JJ,” he sighed. “Don’t make Liv walk all the way back here.”

“Why not?” JJ quipped. “Only thing I like more’n watching Liv walk away is her running back towards me.”

“You know, you’re in a fair way to be swimmin’ home today,” John B warned good-naturedly.

“You’re gonna toss me overboard in the middle of the Atlantic, John B?”

“No; but Liv might.”

“She wouldn’t,” JJ grinned, dimpling. “She likes me too much.”

“Not after I tell her you like the way she _bounces_.”

“It’s a compliment!” JJ laughed, but he saw Liv with her hands on her hips the other end of the pier, and sighed, securing the line more firmly, hopping out of the _Pogue_ to stride down the pier with John B.

“Seriously, man, remember the rule; no pogue-on-pogue macking,” John B warned. It had never been an issue, realistically, before Kiara had joined their crew. They had all grown up with Liv: She was _one of them_. Since they were eight years old. But Kiara, she had a toe dipped in both ponds - kook and pogue. She had the money of a kook but the heart and soul of a pogue - and, for some reason, she chose to hang out with them. She was hot, and smart, and safer than looking too long at Liv. Because JJ _hadn’t_ known her since they were in third-grade. There was a fine line, there. And JJ wasn’t bold enough to cross it. No matter how much he might seriously consider it sometimes.

“Uh-huh. I’m gonna remind you of that next time you pout those lips at Kie,” JJ remarked, and John B shot him a quick look.

“What d’you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, John B,” he laughed. “What’s up, Liv? We’re not sailing out past the continental shelf to dump frozen body-parts from Mrs Crain’s meat-locker.”

“Really, JJ?” she sighed, shaking her head. “You have one warped imagination.”

“I really don’t; it’s just what everyone else says,” JJ said fairly.

“Come on,” Liv said, beckoning them with a crook of her finger. “You’re gonna come introduce yourselves to Mrs Crain.”

“What?” JJ asked, his breath hitching. Liv gave him an incredulous look over her shoulder, and reached for his hand.

“Here, I’ll hold your hand, sweet-pea, if you’re that afraid,” she said, teasingly, but JJ smiled at her - because she threaded her fingers through his, holding his hand casually as he gaze hesitantly at the mansion, looming up amid glossy foliage and ancient trees, vibrant flowers everywhere bruised from the storm.

“Doesn’t look like she was hit that bad,” he observed, noting that…okay, it just looked like another one of the kooks’ old mansions. A little more battered, a little less glamorous than most houses in Figure Eight, more…’old’ Outer Banks - before the multi-million-dollar McMansions and condo developments rose up where historic homes had once dominated the island. In the last fifteen years, Cameron Construction had completely altered the landscape of Kildare County - mostly on the North Side of the island.

“It’s really not that scary,” Liv said gently. “Come on, come say hello.”

“Okay,” JJ said hesitantly, as John B winced up at the house. The noise-level of the insects and the frogs in the underbrush rose as the breeze off the water died down, and JJ could tell this was one place where the owners didn’t have a whole staff of underpaid pogues manicuring the gardens. It was overgrown, to say the least…

“Mrs Crain,” Liv called gently, and a shadow on the porch moved. An old lady in stylish sunglasses and a nice dress stood leaning against a cane with a white tip.

Okay. Not what he imagined Lizzie Borden would look like. She looked…like a grandma.

“This is my brother, John B, and this is JJ,” Liv said gently, and JJ glanced quickly at Liv, who was smiling, as Mrs Crain turned toward them. They made their way up the porch-steps, and JJ saw the mess across the porch, potted plants overturned, dirt scattered, furniture everywhere. “They’re gonna help me set the house to rights, if that’s okay.”

“Thank you,” Mrs Crain said politely, and JJ smiled tightly, uncomfortable.

“You said you heard glass breaking last night?”

“Well, we’ll find it, and clear it up,” John B said, and JJ nodded.

“Yeah, we’ll, uh, tidy up all these begonias,” JJ said, recognising the flowers, the same kinds Liv grew in pots all over the porch at the Château.

“I appreciate it, boys, thank you,” Mrs Crain said. She had a kind voice, JJ realised, if a little sad.

“While the boys do that, d’you want to go through your grocery-list?” Liv asked, and JJ started carefully turning the ceramic pots upright, scooping up compost in his bare hands. “We’re headed over to Heyward’s in a little bit.”

“Heyward’s? Mm, how’s that boy of his doing?” Mrs Crain asked, and the two women disappeared inside the house, as Liv told Mrs Crain about Pope’s scholarship interview.

“Doesn’t seem that scary to me,” John B muttered, setting a rattan settee to rights, rearranging matching armchairs either side of it.

“Bet Hansel and Gretel didn’t think the witch in the gingerbread house was that scary, either,” JJ retorted, but at this point he was just holding on to old dread. Truly, Mrs Crain didn’t look any different to any of the other older kooks he had ever seen - maybe a little less put-together, but if she was partially-blind, that couldn’t be helped. “Hey, how does she know about Pope?”

“Liv’s here every week,” John B shrugged.

“She is?”

“Yeah, she delivers groceries, cooks dinner, bakes a cake, and has a music lesson,” John B said. His shoulders slumped a little as he added, “My dad used to come visit Mrs Crain every week - Liv’s just…kinda taken over for him…for a while, you know. ‘Til he’s back.”

“Right,” JJ muttered, glancing at John B out of the corner of his eye. He sighed to himself; it had been _nine months_ \- and JJ thought Liv was right. John B had to start thinking about what was best for him, not cling onto the memory of what Big John had done for them. He tried to shift a shiny dark-blue glazed pot, and groaned. “Jeez! Help me with this, would you? Weighs a _tonne_!”

Together, they managed to shift the pot back into place, and JJ frowned at the porch. It hadn’t been repainted in ages, and he could see in places that the railings were rotting away. The lawn was overgrown, and so were the flowerbeds. He wasn’t an expert gardener, by any stretch of the imagination, but he had mowed enough lawns and tidied up enough flowerbeds to know Mrs Crain needed some serious help looking after her property. And he wondered why she didn’t have anyone tidying up the yard - or prepping the house for a storm.

“Oh _my_ … Yo, _LIV_!” JJ yelled, rounding the corner of the porch, and sighed, approaching the wreckage. There was a huge magnolia tree in full flower - he knew they were magnolia flowers, because Liv coveted the gnarled magnolia at the Château - and this one had really pretty flowers, the kind of flowers Liv would love, huge, pink in the centre and white at the tips, and he could smell the perfume from here. And a heavy bough had split from the tree during the storm, doing some damage to the porch roof as it crashed down, spearing through the window. Shattered glass glinted on the dirty porch beneath the window, and JJ assessed the damage, as a shadow moved beyond the glass.

“You found it,” Liv said grimly, on the other side of the glass, and JJ nodded.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Roof’s messed up some, but good news is the rest of the tree’s still sound. We’ve just gotta remove this branch and John B and I can board up the window. Might be safer to just knock this busted glass out before we try and remove the branch.”

“Alright, let me just go tell Mrs Crain,” Liv said. “I’ll see if she has anything you can use.”

Considering it was supposed to be a free day, fishing, JJ didn’t know how they had suddenly found themselves hauling pottery and patching busted windows.

He would never have thought he’d ever be in _Mrs Crain’s_ basement, swatting at mosquitoes, as he searched for tools by flashlight, John B upstairs checking out the circuit-breaker - Mrs Crain, despite being in one of the plushiest neighbourhoods of historic Kildare Island, didn’t have power, and she didn’t have a backup generator. Grumbling in his irritation, he swatted at another mosquito, jerking away, and hissed in pain as his knee scraped against something sharp and jagged. It was…a _wall_ , right in the middle of the basement floor, about two feet high, boarded over. The boards might’ve been decent to cover the broken window, sawn in half, but they were nailed down. Cussing and itching, he managed to find a battered old toolkit - actually, it was a pretty sweet toolkit, when he got to looking at it in the sunshine, once painted emerald-green, worn with age, long-abandoned, but full to bursting with old, well-made tools - and a few sheets of really old drywall, probably leftovers from an historic refurbishment. It would do, to cover the broken window, keep any water getting into Mrs Crain’s music-room during another storm.

“Okay, why is it that I’m down in the basement getting eaten alive by skeeters, and you’re up here sippin’ homemade lemonade?” JJ grunted indignantly, emerging into the bright sunshine of the cluttered kitchen, to find John B leaning against the counter.

“You know skeeters only go after rotten meat, right?” John B grinned, his eyes raking over JJ, who glared as his best-friend sipped from his glass of lemonade.

“What happened to your knee?” Liv asked, appearing; JJ glanced down after setting the drywall against the kitchen-counter, muscles straining as he set down the toolkit.

“The house doesn’t like me,” JJ said, gazing sternly at Liv, whose lips twitched. But she glanced at the blood trickling down his shin with a delicate wince, turning to tear off some kitchen-towel and rinse it under the faucet. She handed it to JJ to wipe off the blood, staunching the jagged cut on his knee.

“Saltwater will do that a world of good,” said a crackly voice, and JJ jumped, his heart thumping. He had not liked being in Mrs Crain’s basement, no matter what Liv said about her being a nice, lonely old lady. “I appreciate you going down there, young man; I haven’t been down to the basement in years. Did you find what you needed?”

“Yeah, there’s a toolkit and some drywall, we can patch up the window ‘til it can be replaced,” JJ said, glancing at Liv as he squeezed the wet kitchen-towel against his knee.

“And I got gloves from the _Pogue_ ,” John B added. “We’ll be okay to break the glass and move the tree out of the way.”

“Alright, let’s do that, then,” Liv said, hustling them toward the music-room, one of the few rooms, as far as JJ could tell, not buried beneath two feet of clutter. His house was untidy, he knew; but they were too poor to accumulate much by way of junk, except the necessaries for sailing and fishing and rebuilding engines. Fifteen minutes later, Liv was sweeping up the rest of the broken glass while JJ and John B hauled the magnolia branch off the porch.

“Shame about the flowers,” JJ observed, thinking of Liv. She loved the magnolia at the Château. Weird that he remembered that - that he knew it was a magnolia at all, because Liv paid so much attention to the flowers. Most nights when he watched her feeding the chickens, JJ would see her pause at the magnolia tree, examining - _enjoying_ \- the cream-pink flowers.

“Uh-huh,” John B muttered distractedly. “This wasn’t what I thought we’d be doing today.”

JJ shrugged. He didn’t actually mind it. After he and John B had nailed the drywall over the broken window, blocking the sunshine but also protecting the room from water-damage, JJ scrutinised the porch roof.

“JJ - _don’t_ \- _really_?!” Liv protested, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Don’t you _dare_ fall, Jethro Jensen!”

“Dude!” JJ gaped at her, horrified and indignant, perched precariously on top of the porch railing. “Full name? Really?! You have no power over me!!!”

“Don’t try and distract me by quoting _Labyrinth_ , JJ, I mean it - be _careful_!” Her beautiful face was so earnest, JJ didn’t have the heart to stay mad at her for the full-name drop, or tease her for her fear. Reaching up, he clung to the roof, swinging gently, and pulled himself up on top of the porch. John B and Liv appeared on the lawn, squinting in the sunlight and shielding their eyes as they gazed up, watching him carefully.

“Oh, yeah…Mrs Crain, you’re gonna need this repaired; there’s over two dozen shingles dislodged, and another storm’s gonna rot through the roof,” JJ called, examining the damage. “That Aggie, what a _bitch_!”

“Watch your mouth!” Liv called. “And get your ass down here!”

“Um, I don’t like that kind of talk,” JJ chided, smirking at her. “You wanna shut your eyes so you don’t have to watch me climb down? ‘Fraidy-cat.”

“Just get down here, Tarzan,” Liv rolled her eyes, and JJ grinned, clambering down via one of the porch support columns like a monkey. He leapt off the porch, landing lightly on his feet beside Liv. Hooking his arm around her shoulders, he dimpled, smirking.

“You weren’t worried about me, were you?” he teased.

“No, worried about me having to haul your ass out of the way so we can mow the lawn,” Liv said, brushing his arm off her shoulders. He grinned.

“Alright, if I fall off the roof I’ll be sure and fall on the driveway. Somewhere convenient,” he promised, and Liv rolled her eyes - but he coaxed a smile. He wasn’t expecting it, but when Mrs Crain offered them a slice of cake to go with the homemade lemonade, they sat on the porch in the sunshine, enjoying the white cake Liv had made, speckled with freeze-dried strawberries and sandwiched with strawberry jam and fresh buttercream frosting: she had made the cake earlier in the week, when she stopped by for a visit and her weekly music-lesson. Liv didn’t tend to make cakes at the Château much anymore. She used to make them all the time, before… Now she was so busy with school, and work - and to be honest, he and John B would eat half the cake each for dinner, with a few beers, and she’d never get a slice! So it was a treat, to enjoy a slice of cake, and…kind of sad, he realised, as Mrs Crain asked them about the state of the rest of the island after the hurricane. And he remembered Liv came to visit every week: Were theirs the first new voices she’d heard in months? Longer?

Liv took Mrs Crain’s shopping-list, and the old lady retreated to the dark and the cool of her cluttered house. Back in the _Pogue_ , they made their way to _Heyward’s_ , long delayed in picking up Pope.

JJ frowned at Liv, who had adjusted her sunglasses and was radiant in the sunshine as John B steered. “So is she like _fully_ blind, or could she see me if I started doing a strip-tease in front of -“

John B blurted, “Why would you want to - ?”

“She’s registered as _legally_ blind, but she has _some_ vision in her left eye,” Liv said, rolling her eyes. “Why a strip-tease?”

“I don’t know, it was the first thing that came into my head!”

“A strip-tease is the first thing you thought of when you thought of a decrepit, arthritic, legally-blind old lady?” Liv asked, her tawny eyebrows rising above her sunglasses.

“No, I was thinking about you and the strip-tease came into my head,” JJ grinned, his dimple winking.

“You giving me one, or me giving you one?”

“Either way works for me,” JJ grinned.

“Gross,” John B sighed. “Hey, look…”

“Damn, Aggie,” JJ muttered. “Sure hope Guffy’s boat didn’t sink - he doesn’t have insurance.”

“Hi, Miss Amy!” John B called out. “You guys get through it?”

“Still here,” Amy called back, and they waved, cruising past.

“Dude, she totally looked at me,” JJ muttered, grinning.

“Yeah, you’re bleeding all over the flagship,” Liv said, pointing delicately at his knee, which was again oozing ruby-red blood.

“Dude, look at this mess,” John B sighed.

“Agatha, what did you do?” JJ tutted.

“She is a crazy lady,” John B said.

“You’d best put up a shrine to Agatha,” Liv remarked, rummaging through the hold for their First Aid kit. “DCS would’ve been hauling your butt to the mainland today if not for her.”

“I’ll name my first child in her honour,” John B snickered.

“Or your next boat,” JJ suggested. “This is hard-core, dude. Hurricane-surge.”

“We’re gonna be cleaning this all summer,” JJ moaned.

“That is my nightmare,” John B said, steering the boat toward _Heyward’s Seafood_. Pope stood at the end of the dock, hosing everything down. A wooden board had ‘ _Bring it on AGGIE you BITCH_ ’ spray-painted on it in black. The red buckets that usually brought in fresh seafood hauls for Heyward were stacked, empty.

“Well, look who we have here!” JJ whooped.

“ _We have a safety meeting. Attendance mandatory_ ,” John B called into his shoulder, mimicking radio static.

“I can’t. My pop’s got me on lockdown,” Pope protested, and Liv shrugged. Pope’s parents were relatively strict - but loving: they wanted the best for him.

“Come on, man,” JJ said, grinning, and spoke into his shoulder, mimicking radio static like John B, “ _Your dad’s a pussy. Over_.”

“Oh, I heard that, you little bastard!” Heyward said, appearing behind Pope, holding a broom.

“Hi, Mr Heyward!” Liv waved, beaming, hopping out of the _Pogue_. “You taking grocery orders?”

“What d’you need, sugar?” asked Pope’s dad, who harboured a secret sweet-spot for Liv. She was always polite, and helped out on special occasions. Plus, she and Pope did their homework together, with Liv assiduously quizzing Pope to help him study before tests.

“Order for Mrs Crain,” Liv said. “I’ve got a list. I said I’d bring back what I could this evening.”

“Alright, I’ll see what I can put together for her,” Mr Heyward nodded.

“She gave me some cash, too; d’you want it now or when I pick it up?”

“Later’s good, I gotta see what I’ve got on the shelves. Should have everything, though,” Mr Heyward said. “You and John B got what you need?”

“Yeah, we’re set. John B’s emptied the freezer, as much as he can; we’ll be having a picnic out on the marsh-maze,” Liv said, and Heyward tucked Mrs Crain’s shopping-list into his apron pocket. “I’ll see you later.”

“You get here just before closing, and I’ll see what I can send home with you,” Mr Heyward said, and Liv grinned.

“Thank you, Mr Heyward,” she beamed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed.

“Can Pope come out and play?” she asked, as the boys nodded enthusiastically, grinning and giving her the thumbs-up. When in doubt, send Liv into the line of fire first. Parents loved her. She was the buffer between the boys and their parents’ friends who didn’t trust trashy lowlifes from the Cut.

“We need your son!” John B called.

“Yeah, and island rules!” JJ added, grinning. “Day after a hurricane’s a free day.”

“Who the hell made that up?” Heyward asked.

“Uh…Pentagon, I think. We have security clearance,” JJ quipped - he was known to be Mr Heyward’s least favourite, due to JJ’s father’s reputation (which was, truthfully, hard-earned).

“Please, please, _please_ , can Pope come out and play? We promise, we’ll do interview prep. Hard-core grilling while we fish,” Liv promised, grinning, and JJ smiled devilishly, holding up the Vulcan salute.

“Scout’s honour,” JJ grinned, and Pope rolled his eyes, hiding a grin from his dad.

“That is not even nearly correct, JJ,” he said, casting a sideways glance at his father, and JJ held out his hand to steady Liv as she climbed back into the _Pogue_.

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” Pope said, turning to his dad. “I promise. Tomorrow.”

“Interview prep, Mr Heyward, promise!” Liv smiled, lifting her backpack. “I brought flashcards!”

“You think I’m stupid -!”

“Pope, come on!”

“You think - No. No!” Heyward called. “Hell, no! You doin’ it right now!”

“Get in the boat!” John B coaxed.

“Make a run for it!” JJ grinned.

“Don’t do it, Pope! Oh, you’re gonna get it!” Liv teased, as Pope glanced from his friends to his dad and back, torn, half-grinning already.

“Boy, if you get on that boat -“

“You’re gonna get your ass beat!” Liv grimaced. “Better not do it! Don’t risk it!”

“Here he comes!” JJ laughed, as Pope made a dash for the _Pogue_ , drifting away from the pier. “How does that feel?”

“You rebel! There’ll be no stopping you now! We’re gonna rename you _Hellion_ Heyward!” Liv laughed.

“Go, go, go!” Pope cried.

“Bring your ass back up here!”

“I promise, I’ll do it tomorrow, Dad!” JJ whooped, swinging a lead like a lasso above his head, and John B gave Mr Heyward a flirty wave.

“You get back! You gonna clean shrimp, you gonna clean fish, you gonna clean your dirty-ass room - !”

“Love you, Pops!” Pope called, and the boys grinned, laughing.

“We’ll bring him back in one piece!” John B called. “I promise!”

“And I don’t like your friends!” Mr Heyward shouted at them.

“I think we’re starting to grow on him,” Liv grinned at Pope, who laughed. “We better catch a _lot_ of fish today; you’re not gonna be coming out with us for a while once Heyward gets a hold of you.”

“Hey, what kinda questions are you gonna ask me?”

“Pardon?”

“Interview-prep.”

“Oh. Pope - I was _kidding_ …” Liv grimaced, and Pope stared at her. “I’ll make something up.”

“Cool. I need to start working on my merit scholarship essay,” Pope said, worrying his lip and frowning. He adjusted his cap in the sunshine. “Where’s Kie?”

“Headed over to _The Wreck_ now,” John B said.

“What took you so long, anyway?” Pope asked, relaxing beside JJ.

“Doing our part to help the vulnerable in our community,” JJ said, grinning.

“What did you steal?” Pope asked, sighing heavily, and JJ made a good show of seeming offended he’d even ask.

“I didn’t steal anything, thank you very much!” JJ tutted. “I was actually being serious - hey, you reckon Mrs Crain would pay me to do some yard-work?”

“I’ve been asking for months to bring you guys over and do some work for her,” Liv said, shrugging. “I guess she’s been a little hesitant to have strangers over, you know.”

“So what, today was our unofficial interview?” John B asked.

“I guess so,” Liv smiled. “Hey, Kie’s ready and rarin’ to go!” She sat up and wolf-whistled, as Kiara sauntered down the dock to them, a large red icebox in one hand.

“Oh, top o’ the mornin’ to ya,” JJ said, putting on a bad Irish accent.

“Good morning, boys. Hey, Liv!” Kiara grinned.

“Whatcha got?” Pope asked. “You got some juice-boxes?”

“You know, just some yoghurts and carrot-sticks,” Kiara shrugged, grinning.

“What about JJ’s favourite juice-boxes?” Liv asked, as JJ reached out a hand to help Kie into the boat.

“Yeah,” Kiara nodded, smiling.

“Brace for impact,” John B said, as Kiara climbed in, settling herself down in her usual spot.

“Where’ve you guys been, I’ve been waiting forever?!” Kie asked, as she tugged open the lid of the icebox, bringing out bottles of chilled beer. JJ pulled out his keychain, complete with bottle-opener.

“Stopped by a haunted house,” JJ said. “Would you believe, we’re do-gooders.”

“I would not, not unless I saw it with my own two eyes,” Kie chuckled, snapping the cap off a beer, handing it to Pope. She handed the beers out, and Liv took a sip, nodding as she swallowed, and sighed, resting back as John B steered them away from the businesses, toward the marsh maze.

“Salud!” Kiara grinned, toasting them.

“Skol,” JJ murmured, and they clinked bottles before taking a swig.

“So what is all this, what’ve we got?” Kiara asked, glancing at the various bags and iceboxes being hauled in the _Pogue_. The boys had boxes full of bait and tackle, their fishing gear, nets. They had a tonne of food, and Kiara had brought the beverages, a bottle of sunscreen tucked in amongst them. Everything they needed for their perfect post-hurricane day out on the water.

“Check it out - Liv brought food from the diner; John B emptied out the freezer at the Château -“

“The freezer? Crap!” Liv groaned. “I forgot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” John B shrugged. “I got everything out before it had started thawing, but we’ll need to cook the meat so it doesn’t spoil. We’re having ice-cream cake for lunch, though.”

“Ice-cream cake?!” Pope asked, and Liv sighed. He _loved_ ice-cream cakes.

“I bought it to celebrate after you got your scholarship,” she admitted. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, it’s a pre-emptive celebration of you _dominating_ that interview,” John B grinned.

“As long as your dad doesn’t kill you before the interview,” JJ muttered, dimpling.

“Hey, where did you get the ice-cream cake, anyway? Those things are expensive,” John B remarked, nudging Liv’s leg with the toe of his shoe.

“Not when they’re past their sell-by date,” Liv smiled, sipping her beer. “Candace hooked me up.”

“Candace at the dairy?”

“Uh-huh. Every time things are past their sell-by she’ll put a package aside for me,” Liv said.

“For free? Why would she do that?”

“’Coz I gave her son math tutoring all last semester,” Liv said. “Reciprocity.”

“So we’ve got ice-cream cake, we’ve got fishing gear,” Kiara said, smiling. “Should’ve brought my ukulele.”

“Yeah, you could’ve serenaded us,” John B smiled.

“And Liv’s brought her paints; she’s gonna draw me like one of her French squirrels,” JJ teased, stripping off his _Coors_ vest t-shirt and posing at the bow of the boat. Liv snickered, and Kiara laughed. Pope and John B switched at the helm, exchanging the beer-bottle between them, and John B relaxed at the stern of the boat with his beer.

“Let me show you a little party-trick,” JJ said, tossing his vest on top of his backpack. “Hey, Pope. Can you go a little faster?”

“Here we go,” John B muttered, shaking his head. “It doesn’t work! We’ve tried this six-thousand times!” JJ stood at the bow of the Pogue, trying to warp the laws of physics to get his beer into his mouth using nothing but the boat’s speed and the wind. All that happened was he wasted most of his beer, spraying the rest of them with it.

“Oh my god!” Kie cried, holding her hands up to shield her eyes. “You’re getting beer in my hair!”

“Alright. Alright!” Pope called. “You’re done.”

Without warning, the _Pogue_ lurched, the engine rattling, the boat groaning beneath them as they were pitched forward, stomachs lurching, and a huge splash told them someone had fallen overboard. JJ had been thrown, tumbling head over heels, into the water; Liv watched, helpless, as she was pitched forward, onto Kiara’s icebox, the corner catching her right in the boob. _Ow_.

“Jesus, Pope!” Kiara moaned, as Pope groaned.

“ _JJ_?!” Liv called, clambering to the stern, and a golden head appeared, JJ groaning as he broke the surface.

“You okay?” John B called.

“Aaah,” JJ groaned. “I think my heels touched the back of my head.”

“Kie, you alright?” John B checked.

“I’m alright,” Kiara moaned. “Liv?”

“Icebox got me right in the tit,” Liv grimaced, and Kie winced in sympathy as Liv massaged her sore boob. There was nothing like taking a hit to the tit, as any woman could attest. JJ swam over to them, and blinked dazedly, holding on to the side of the boat, watching her.

“Please do that again,” he said softly, with a dimple for Liv. She narrowed her eyes, in pain, and reached out to dunk him under the water.

“Pope, what did you do?” he asked, ducking out of Liv’s reach, still dimpling at her.

“Sandbar,” Pope sighed, massaging his ribs. “The channel changed.”

“No shit,” JJ exclaimed.

“This is probably gonna mess this whole place up,” John B grumbled. They knew the marsh maze like the back of their hands.

“Hey, I saved the beer, though,” JJ said brightly, holding up his beer-bottle, still clasped in his hand.

“Congrats, JJ,” John B muttered.

Pope stood at the stern, leaning over the water, frowning.

“Pope?” Liv frowned, following his gaze.

“Guys… I think there’s a boat down there…”


	3. The Golden Compass

**Golden Pogues**

_02_

_The Golden Compass_

* * *

“Shut up,” John B muttered, rolling his eyes.

“There’s no way,” Kie shook her head.

“No, no, guys. I’m serious!” Pope protested. “There’s a boat down there.”

Liv stood and made her way to Pope’s side, staring past JJ, and there it was, something glowing white, an impossibly perfect white rectangle, glowing beneath the surface of the murky water. “He’s right - holy shit!”

“For real!” Pope said excitedly, pointing, the others clambering toward them. “It’s a boat!”

“You think there’s a dead body down there?” Pope asked excitedly.

“God, I hope not,” Liv muttered, suppressing a shudder. They exchanged glances, and within seconds were stripping off, diving into the water, first John B, then Kiara, whooping, and Pope cannon-balling into the water last, spraying JJ in the face as he treaded water, waiting for Liv. She balanced on the stern, dropping her t-shirt onto the pile of clothes, swinging her arms a little. Her dive barely made a splash; she was that good.

Eyes open against the sting of the saltwater, she speared gracefully through the water, down, down, until the boat emerged from the gloom. It wasn’t just a boat - wasn’t just an oversize bathtub like the _HMS Pogue_ : The wreckage was serious money! A _Grady-White_. It was empty, but it was there. A _bona fide_ shipwreck, right in the middle of the marsh maze. And, holding her breath, peering through the gloom as saltwater stung at her eyes like beestings, she recognised it.

“You saw that, right?” Pope spluttered, as they resurfaced.

“Yeah, I did!” Kie gasped, grinning.

“Yeah.”

“That was a _Grady-White_ ,” JJ said excitedly, as they all started to climb back into the _Pogue_. He leaned against the side of the boat as a counterweight so Liv could climb in without upturning the boat as Pope hauled himself over the side. “A new one of those is like five-hundred G’s, easy.”

“It’s not just any _Grady-White_ ,” Liv said, shoving her sopping hair out of her face; there was no point tying it back again. “John B - that was the boat!”

“What boat?” John B muttered.

“The boat was saw, yesterday,” Liv said, taking the towel Kie offered her to dry off a little, spreading the towel at the stern, as JJ shook the water out of his hair and went to the icebox for a fresh beer.

“ _Right_ \- when we were out surfing the surge,” John B said, a glint sparking in his eyes. “Yeah - yeah, that is exactly the boat. Maybe it hit the jetty or something.”

“You surfed the surge?” Kie said quietly, frowning at John B. She raised her eyebrows at Liv.

“ _Maaaaybe_ ,” Liv smiled, taking the beer JJ offered her.

“Do you both have a death-wish?” Kei asked, scowling.

“If we go, we go together,” Liv said softly, shrugging, doing the secret handshake with John B, who grinned.

“Do we know whose boat that is?” JJ asked.

“No; but we’re about to find out,” John B grinned, reaching into the hatch.

“John B…” Liv warned.

“What?”

“Dude, it’s too deep,” JJ protested.

“For the weak and feeble, JJ,” John B smiled easily, grabbing the anchor, and they all knew what he was about to do: Use the anchor to weight himself down, reach the seabed faster.

“Well, I’m not resuscitating you, I’m just making that clear upfront,” JJ said, and Liv raised an eyebrow at him.

“That’s fine,” John B shrugged.

“John B,” Kiara said softly, her voice stern.

“What?” John B smiled, cradling the anchor in his arms.

“Diver down, fool!” Pope grinned, saluting John B.

“Diver down,” John B smiled back.

“Yeah, he is!” JJ exclaimed, and shoved John B off the bow. He disappeared with a huge splash, churning up the water. Liv sighed, shaking her head, keeping an eye on the water. She’d like to say she wasn’t used to this kind of shit from John B, but, well, she had been out in the surge with him yesterday, surfing Aggie’s wrath while most _sensible_ people were bracing themselves for the storm inside their homes, hoping that at best they’d lose power, and worst, that trees would come down on top of their houses, or they would be flooded, most of their worldly possessions ruined. John B and JJ had always been idiots; but ever since Dad had disappeared, John B had taken on a sense of reckless abandon, a complete disregard for his own safety, his mortality, that was at times scary.

As she’d said to Kiara, if the storm had taken them while they surfed the surge, at least it would have taken them both. Liv had no desire to be the last one left.

She sighed, and sipped her beer, and watched the water; the others muttered anxiously, but she waited. From a lifetime out in the water, lifeguard training and being on the high-school swim-team (she had been regionally ranked Freshman year, before Big John disappeared and everything went to shit, and she had to prioritise work over play to support themselves) Liv could hold her breath a long time; and so could John B. They used to train by, well…jumping overboard with the anchor, timing themselves to increase their tolerance.

As Kiara started to panic, John B resurfaced with a splash and a splutter, choking and laughing.

“Oh, my god! That took _forever_!” Kiara exclaimed.

“Any dead bodies?” Pope asked.

“Looting potential?” JJ asked excitedly.

“No. No,” John B spluttered, treading water, and he held something up out of the water, bright yellow, glinting silver. “I found this motel key.”

“A key?” Pope asked, unimpressed.

“Great. We salvaged a motel key,” JJ said, sighing, hoisting the anchor out of the water. Until they budged from the sandbar, they weren’t going anywhere.

“Who wants ice-cream cake?” Liv asked, turning to the icebox. She was _starving_ : Breakfast was a long time ago for her. “Celebrate our finder’s fee.”

“Finder’s fee?” Pope frowned, as Liv found the cutlery in the tub in the hold - they weren’t wild animals, no matter what most people thought of them.

“Sure, we’ll report the wreckage to the Coast Guard,” Liv grinned. “Split the cash equally.”

“Yes! No working, all summer,” JJ grinned, and she passed the beer back. He took a sip, sighing, and raised his face to the sunshine. “Y’know, I really do think I will name my first boat after Agatha. No DCS inspection for John B; we found a wreckage.”

“Karma had to turn in our favour eventually,” Liv sighed, lifting the ice-cream cake out of the icebox. It was already melting. “Okay, guys, we’re gonna have to eat this _quick_ , look at it.”

“Did pretty well in that icebox,” JJ muttered, taking a spoon.

“Weapons at the ready?” Liv asked, opening the cardboard box, and the guys raised their spoons, gathering around. “Alright - a toast. To the Lucas T Vanderhorst Merit Scholar. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

“Yo, Pope!” JJ whooped.

“And to the life of Grady White,” Liv laughed, “cut _tragically_ short by Hurricane Agatha. May you rest in profitability for us.”

“Amen to that!” John B chuckled.

“Alright…” Liv laughed, as she set the cake on top of the icebox, her friends circling like sharks. The ice-cream cakes from the dairy were legend in Kildare County. Kooks ordered them custom with all sorts of weird flavours - mostly salted-caramel, at the moment, it was _the_ flavour - but the standard ones made fresh on the premises were insane. The colour from the sprinkles was starting to seep into the whipped cream on top as it melted. Decadent dark-chocolate ice-cream with hot fudge sauce layered on top with crushed Oreos and chunks of chewy brownie, vanilla ice-cream swirled with freeze-dried raspberries and dollops of raspberry syrup, all topped with whipped cream and sprinkles. Heaven.

“Hey, there are unicorns in the sprinkles,” Kiara observed with a smile.

“Oh my god, I’m not eating a unicorn!” JJ gasped, eyes widening.

“More for me,” Kie sighed, smiling contently. “This is the _best_ ice-cream cake!”

When there was food involved, Kiara and Liv worked together to ensure they shared at least an equal portion to what the boys consumed - they got in first, and stayed until they were satisfied. Like Great White sharks: The biggest, baddest shark got the first bite of the blubber, and the rest of them waited until she was done. Liv, being the one who to provide the cake, got the first go at her. And she and Kiara attacked the cake, giggling. Beer and ice-cream cake for lunch, out on the marsh with their best-friends and the sun shining down on them? Did it get any better?

After nothing was left but a wayward rainbow sprinkle and a smear of melted chocolate ice-cream, they groaned, relaxing against the boat, enjoying the sunshine. They were supposed to be headed out fishing, but, well...they went where the current took them.

“So - hang on…” JJ muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the wreckage of the _Grady_ - _White_. “Why was anyone out in an open boat during that storm?”

“Why was anyone surfing the surge during that hurricane?” Kie asked pointedly, glaring at John B and Liv. “Who’d be that stupid?”

“Me!” John B grinned brightly, waving his hand.

“I mean, a _Grady-White_? Out in that storm? There’s only a few idiots on this island who’d risk it,” JJ said.

“What kind of idiots would risk it, JJ?” Liv asked, pressing her finger to her chin in mock-thought.

“Square groupers. Whosever boat this was, they were straight-up smuggling,” JJ said. “Think about it; under the radar, no surveillance, the lighthouse was knocked out during the storm. The only idiots who’d risk the storm are people who’ve got way too much to lose by not heading out into the water.”

“So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying there’s probably a shit-tonne of contraband hidden in the hold,” JJ grinned, holding up his keychain. “And I got my skeleton-key!”

“We are not looting from a shipwreck!” Kiara protested.

“Why not?”

“Because it belongs to someone - “

“Think about it; the boat is sunk in the middle of the marsh-maze,” JJ said, gesturing around them. “You guys surfed the surge, right? Think anyone could’ve survived the waves, out in that Grady-White? An open boat, during a hurricane?”

“There’s no dead body,” Pope said, disappointedly.

“Yeah, well, people get lost at sea all the time,” Liv said quietly, and the others exchanged uneasy looks as John B’s face darkened. Everyone said their dad had been ‘lost at sea’ like they were living in the Eighteenth Century or something, and Captain Jack Sparrow might swagger down the boardwalk to gather a buccaneer crew and sail the high seas for adventure and gold and glory. They had never found her dad’s boat - it wasn’t worth much, but the cops had taken it as evidence that he had likely capsized during a storm, and the wreckage was beyond the continental shelf. As in, no-one was going to bother searching, because they literally wouldn’t be able to find anything if the boat had sunk to the seabed at that depth. John B thought because the boat hadn’t been recovered, there was still a chance… Liv wasn’t stupid: Boats disappeared all the time, even without their owners.

“Exactly,” JJ said, inflecting some brightness into his voice, even as he squinted at her, checking on her. “Whoever was in the boat when it went down, well, if they weren’t strong swimmers, likelihood is they drowned. Body just hasn’t turned up yet.”

“So, you want to _steal_ from a dead man’s boat?” Kiara frowned. “Talk about bad karma.”

“It’s the circle of life, Kei,” JJ grinned. It would never occur to Kiara to take advantage of the situation - but Liv and JJ and John B, well, they’d be hustling to make a living the rest of their lives.

“God, please don’t start singing,” Liv grimaced, and JJ grinned, hopping up onto the bow, taking a great lungful of air to start singing the _Lion King_ intro. Liv exchanged a glance with Pope, and they both laughed as they shoved JJ into the water. He yelped, and landed with a splash, resurfacing a few seconds later, raised middle-finger first. They laughed, and Liv grinned, leaning over the side as JJ swam back, offering her hand.

“Don’t - don’t - JJ!!” she yelped, as he grinned devilishly, pulling on her arm with all his strength, and she tumbled into the water.

“JJ!” she laughed, spluttering, as she surfaced, and JJ dimpled at her.

“What?” he said, blinking innocently. “You look good wet.”

“Ass!” she laughed, splashing him; and that was it. The others dived into the water, and they splashed, and _played_. Sometimes it was just nice to splash, and play, and be _kids_ , and not have to worry about anything else. As they grew tired, Kiara climbed back into the _Pogue_ to rehydrate, and John B and Pope followed.

“Peace! Peace!” JJ grinned, holding his hands up in the water, calling off the attack, and Liv smiled, ducking her head back to soak her hair, sighing, and relaxed in the water, just floating. The water lapped around her, and someone sighed gently. Someone nudged her leg, and she squinted around, smiling, as JJ floated beside her, resting. He sighed dreamily, “Should be like this all the time.”

“It wouldn’t mean as much, if it was,” Liv sighed contentedly, closing her eyes, basking in the sun, lulled by the water.

“You’re probably right,” JJ sighed. Her eyes closed, the sun beating down, the Pogue’s engine turned off, she could almost believe they were on a tropical island somewhere, no worries, never to be discovered - like _Blue Lagoon_. A few minutes later, JJ asked her, in a very quiet, almost sombre voice, “You were out with John B, surfing the surge?”

She straightened up in the water, treating water, and JJ followed suit, his back to the guys some feet away, out of earshot. The sun reflected off the water, making his eyes glow sky-blue, picking out the gold in his eyelashes, and the expression on his face…she was used to irreverence, his devilish sweetness, charm with a hint of sass and spice, plainspoken and honest. This was different to what she was used to; this was JJ serious, and it was very different to Pope’s usual sombreness, all Kiara’s worry - because JJ so rarely showed his serious, thoughtful side.

“Yeah,” she said. He’d grinned when John B said they’d been out surfing the surge - signature pogue move, surfing insurmountable waves, or attempting to. But now… He looked almost _scared_.

JJ nodded to himself, treading water, and worried his lip. He raised his eyes to hers, and kept them locked, when he murmured, “You’re all I have, too, y’know.”

“JJ -“

“John B and you, you’re all I’ve got,” JJ said, gazing at her. “You’re my family… Don’t leave me behind.” She stared back, suddenly filled with a sense of…sadness. She worried all the time what would happen to JJ if she and John B were shipped off to the mainland. Luke would likely overdose and die, leaving JJ destitute and friendless; or he’d beat JJ to death while he was tweaking. John B and Liv knew he’d come close before; JJ had spent three months of the last nine at the Château, off and on, sometimes in bigger chunks of time, to avoid Luke.

“I promise,” she said softly, holding her pinkie-finger aloft. JJ didn’t smile, still holding her gaze. She sighed, understanding his dread more than anyone; didn’t she experience that knot in her stomach every waking moment, for him, and for John B? They were all _she_ had in the world. “JJ, I _promise_. I couldn’t leave you behind. It’d be like losing a body-part.”

JJ sighed, eyeing her up, the light twinkling in his eyes again. “Which body-part?”

“Toes on my left foot,” Liv said, smiling, coaxing him into back into his playful mood.

“Couldn’t be forefinger on your right hand?” he asked, tongue between his teeth.

“In your dreams.”

“Oh, you are in my dreams, Livi. It recurs; involving the showerhead, and your right index-finger - “

“You promised you’d never bring that up ever again!” Liv gasped loudly, mortified, blushing red-hot and glancing at the _Pogue_ , where the others were hanging out, chatting amongst themselves, not listening to their murmured conversation out in the water.

“Oh, it brings somethin’ up, I promise!” JJ said, grinning, as he swam around her.

“I need new locks at the Château,” Liv flushed, feeling it spread down her face to her chest.

“Why bother? I’ve already seen everything,” JJ grinned. “And so have _you_. Don’t deny you haven’t gotten an eyeful before.” She’d never deny that. The concept of clothing during the summer was tenuously grasped by JJ and John B, and blushing and averting her eyes only encouraged JJ; she was officially desensitised to nudity. Still - she didn’t want him thinking she _liked_ sneaking a peek every now and then. JJ bit his lip, his dimple winking, and he swam a little closer, telling her playfully, “You’re so cute when you blush.”

“It’s sunburn,” she murmured, dipping under the water a little.

“It’s not sunburn. You’re blushing and it’s adorable,” JJ grinned, his dimple winking playfully. “You’re not embarrassed I brought it up, are you? I do it all the time!”

“Yeah, I know; my bottle of lotion is proof,” Liv said, still blushing, and JJ smirked.

“Two most primal urges,” JJ winked, his eyes dipping to her mouth. “Fighting and fu-“

“Guys, are you comin’ back to the _Pogue_ or what?!” Kiara called, and Liv laughed softly as JJ winked. “What’re you talking about?”

“What’re we talking about? Um…well, I’ve got my skeleton-key - y’know, for the cargo-hold,” JJ said, and Liv smiled to herself as they swam over to the boat. “My dad used to move some weight back in the day. We could take a look in the hold, see if there’s anything worth moving.”

“You mean stealing,” Kiara said.

“I mean _liberating_ from a watery grave where it’s not doin’ anyone any good,” JJ said, hauling himself into the boat, instinctively leaning against the side to counterweight so Liv could climb in.

“Forget it, it’s too deep,” Pope said, shaking his head.

“We _just_ dived down there,” Liv reminded him.

“And anyway, even if you found something, how’re you gonna move it without people asking where you got it?” Kiara asked. “It’s too much to risk.”

“For you,” JJ pointed out, raising his eyebrows at her. “ _We_ got nothin’ to lose.” He pointed at himself, then Liv and John B.

“I could dive that,” Liv said, peering over the side of the boat to the Grady-White, still glowing eerily in the water. “Easy.”

“You’re gonna find the cargo-hold, and rob it, with only JJ’s skeleton-key?” Kiara asked, raising her eyebrows.

“No,” Liv said, reaching for her backpack. “I’ve got my goggles, too.”

“Oh, well, you’ve got your goggles, no way you’re gonna end up drowning,” Pope said, throwing his hands up.

“You do remember I’m a trained lifeguard, right?” Liv said, glancing at them. “I’ll do two dives - first to find the hold; then to jimmy it open and see what’s inside.”

“You sure?” John B asked, and Liv nodded.

“Like JJ said, we’ve only got something to gain by taking a look,” Liv said, rummaging around in her backpack, bringing out the expensive goggles she had bought while still part of the Kildare County High School swim-team. She had only made it to junior varsity, but still…it was something she could be proud of, medalling in gold at Regionals. She stood, tossing her sodden hair over her shoulders, and adjusted her goggles over her eyes. “Just in case… JJ…if I do drown…” she sighed, reaching out to rest a hand on JJ’s chest, holding eye-contact; he raised his eyebrows, looking hesitant. “…tell the rooster I loved him.”

JJ smirked. “Get in the water,” he order her, grinning.

“Patience, love,” she said, adjusting her goggles again. “How do I look? Princess Mera?”

“Way hotter,” JJ grinned.

“Aw, thanks, sweet-pea,” Liv chuckled, and caught John B rolling his eyes and grimacing out of the corner of her eye. “I’d say you’re hotter than Jason Momoa, but we both know that’s a bald-faced lie.”

“Hey, man, he’s a god. Who’s hotter than a god?” JJ asked fairly, shrugging. “If you find Atlantis, say hi to Kida for me,” JJ grinned. One of his favourite, and a very underrated _Disney_ movie, was _Atlantis: The Lost Empire_. He loved Princess Kida.

“Roger that,” she grinned, stepping up to the bow for optimal diving. She sighed, observed the water, and shook out her limbs so she was loose and supple, swung her arms gently, and dived. Another ripple, and she was ten, twenty feet below the waterline, straight down and ahead, into the wreckage. With her goggles, she could see clearly, the band keeping her long hair from billowing around her face, and she felt the slightest pressure in her lungs as she used the boat itself to propel her deeper, her ears popping. She was used to it. Glancing around, she found the cargo-hold, checked her orientation, and quickly checked there was nothing else of note. Then she used the boat itself as leverage to push herself back toward the surface, kicking all the way.

She broke the surface, and heard her friends’ gasps of relief.

“That took forever!” Kiara called, as Liv coughed, sucking down air, and swam back to the _Pogue_ ; JJ helped haul her overboard.

“Hey, you know that boat has a _tepanyaki grill_?!” she said, after coughing, and taking a few deep breaths. “And a refrigerator and mini-bar _and_ a sweet ice-chest on the transom, must be two hundred and fifty quarts - with cup-holders! _And_ leather seats. Add that to the shopping-list.” JJ pulled an impressed face, glancing back over the water.

“Was there any booze in the minibar?” JJ asked, reasonably.

“Didn’t check,” Liv said, smiling.

“Forget the booze - did you find the cargo-hold?” John B pushed, and Liv nodded.

“Yeah, I found the cargo-hold!” Liv nodded, shoving her goggles away from her eyes. She glanced at JJ. “You got the thingy?”

“You want my thingy?”

“ _JJ_ ,” John B said, giving him a grim look.

“Alright, alright,” JJ smirked at John B, who’d rolled his eyes so hard he probably saw brain-matter. JJ reached into his backpack for his keychain, and detached what looked a little like a small USB stick on a cord, handing it to Liv.

“Okay, when you get to the hold, you stick this thing inside, and you twist and pull,” JJ said, mimicking the action, and Liv nodded.

“’Kay,” she nodded, taking a few deep breaths, hooking the cord around her wrist. There was a little toggle to tighten it around her wrist, which JJ did, reaching out for her hand as she adjusted her goggles again.

“You’re good to go - hey, if you can, check the minibar,” JJ said, grinning.

“Yeah, ‘coz that’s really important right now,” Kiara said, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, may be the only thing we get outta this,” JJ said sensibly. “Can’t get the fish box open?”

“I mean, I can try, but it’ll take me another couple dives,” Liv said, shrugging. “And whatever was in there was probably smashed to bits by the storm.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” JJ sighed. “Alright, c’mon. Raid the cargo-hold, we can go report this to the Coast Guard, get our finder’s fee and go fishin’!”

“And people say our priorities are whacked!” Liv clicked her tongue, and JJ laughed. He rested back, as she limbered up for another dive.

“Dude, don’t stare,” John B muttered, as his sister disappeared under the water with barely a ripple.

“I enjoy that…like a lot,” JJ admitted; he always liked watching Liv dive. There was something so…elegant about it. Unfussy - as if it was as natural to her as stepping off the sidewalk. No splashes, no flips...just a gentle swing of her arms, leaning over slightly, and an insane view of her ass in her bikini-briefs as she disappeared into the water. John B cleared his throat pointedly, and JJ grinned, accepting the beer Pope offered him.

“Hey, you actually think she’ll find anything?” Pope asked.

“And why bother raiding the minibar?” Kiara asked, rolling her eyes.

“Rich people, Kie; they always have fancy-ass bourbon and shit in their minibars,” JJ said, shrugging.

“Liv’s right; everything was probably smashed to bits in the storm,” Pope said, frowning out over the water. “Wonder where the body went.”

“Dude, enough with the dead bodies, man, alright,” JJ protested. “I wanna know what nasty stuff your parents did to you to make you so obsessed with wanting to slice up dead people.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Pope frowned bemusedly at him, and JJ chuckled, John B grinning in the sunshine.

“Never mind, man,” JJ sighed.

“Guys, can we please focus? Should Liv have been down there this long?”

“Sure,” John B shrugged nonchalantly. “We used to play this game when we were kids, you remember JJ?”

“Yeah, ‘who can _not_ drown for the longest amount of time’,” JJ smirked. “Guess who always won?”

“Liv cheated.”

“She never cheated.”

“She tickled; that’s cheating,” John B protested, still salty. JJ just shook his head, checking his watch, counting down the seconds. And there she was, rising out of the water with a splash and a splutter, gasping for air.

“You okay?” JJ called, and Liv coughed, before nodding.

“I’m good!” she called back. She didn’t use her hands to paddle back to the _Pogue_ , and JJ grinned when he realised why. “Hey, JJ, I got your birthday present - for the next ten years!”

“No _shit_. No shit!” he laughed, whooping in delight, as Liv managed to tread water with very limited use of her arms, holding one out of the water, and JJ took the bottle she offered him. “ _Macallan_ \- twenty-five years old! This thing is worth like four months’ rent, at least!”

“It was in the cargo-hold,” Liv said, and JJ set the bottle of 2018 Macallan single-malt Scotch whisky, aged over twenty-five years in sherry oak barrels, in his backpack as the most expensive thing he would ever hold in his life. “Along with _this_ …” She climbed into the boat, straddling the side, and raised a sodden duffel-bag. “Not very heavy, but we’ll see.”

“Don’t touch that,” JJ said sharply to Pope, who had reached for the Macallan. “This is one beverage we’ll be drinking responsibly - out of glasses, after it’s been left to breathe…”

“Come on, what’s in the bag, Liv?” John B asked eagerly, and Kiara nodded, combing her hair from her face. Liv snapped off her goggles, dropping them into her backpack, and tucked her sodden hair over her shoulder, before unzipping the bag. She frowned, and JJ thought for a second that the sum total of their haul was going to be the Macallan - pretty decent, he thought - until she drew out a clunky silver canister. The kind of water-tight thing someone might stash, say, their drugs or their cash.

JJ shared a grin with John B, fingers crossed behind his back for good luck, as Liv unscrewed the canister, pulling a face as she did so. There was something inside it, they could hear - and when she upturned the canister, Kiara and Pope cried out in excitement as a couple rolls of cash fell into her lap.

For a second, they were all so excited about the money - from what Kiara could tell, grabbing one wad of cash, mostly $20s and a few $50s - denominations they could get away with using without raising suspicion - that they didn’t notice how still Liv had gone. The fact that she wasn’t getting herself worked up over the money. That she was staring, grim-faced, at something in her hands. JJ noticed, only when he turned to grin at her, his hands full of cash.

“What’s that?” JJ asked, frowning at whatever it was in her hands, glinting dully. It looked dark-gold, even in the brilliant midday sunshine.

“John,” Liv said quietly, and JJ nudged his best-friend, who was counting out two hundred dollars in $20s.

“What?” John B asked breathlessly, smiling. Quietly, Liv handed him whatever it was in her hands. JJ frowned, sinking down beside her; because her eyes were sparkling, and it wasn’t from the water dripping, glittering in the sunlight, from her hair.

John B’s breath escaped in a soft hiss, gasping, “What the fuck?” He blinked, hard, at whatever it was in his hands, and JJ leaned over as John B flicked something open. It was a large, and very old compass.

“Antique compass,” Kiara said enthusiastically. “Cool.”

“You can probably pawn that for utilities,” Pope said, shrugging; it wasn’t exciting. But John B had gone just as still as Liv; JJ noticed she didn’t raise her eyes from the bottom of the boat, her expression frozen, eyes faraway and glittering.

“Okay, what’s going on?” JJ asked, glancing between the twins. “It’s a compass. Not the black spot. What’s goin’ on?”

“It’s Big John’s compass,” Liv said hoarsely, reaching up to push away the tears glittering in her eyes.

“What’re you doing?” Kiara asked, watching John B, who was hurriedly unscrewing the compass.

“There’s a secret…compartment,” John B said excitedly, sighing, as two parts of the compass separated… The sun flashed off the compass, and JJ squinted, adjusting his sunglasses over his eyes, as John B rubbed his thumb over something etched into the metal.

“What does that say?” he asked, struggling to decipher the letters; they had been etched by hand, and roughly, not with any kind of tools he would ever have used to engrave metal.

“It says _Olivia_ ,” John B said quietly, and they could all hear the emotion in his voice. He didn’t try to hide it, or the tremble of his lip, as he glanced across the boat at his twin-sister. Nobody ever called her that, but Olivia was her full name. JJ wasn’t the only one with a nickname. Liv’s full name was Olivia Elizabeth Routledge: Liv, to almost everyone. JJ couldn’t remember one single time he had heard Big John call her Olivia, though.

Before they knew what was happening, John B was hoisting up the line, dumping the anchor in the bow, not bothering to tuck it into the cargo hatch, as he turned the key in the ignition.

“Guys, we need to shift the boat,” he said quietly, with a bite to his voice that was unusual.

“John,” Liv said, the only warning she gave him, her expression dark - _pained_. She winced as she gazed at her brother’s back, and JJ saw genuine worry flicker over her face. JJ caught her eye, exchanging a glance, checking on John B, before he hopped out of the boat, to lend his weight, shoving the _Pogue_ off the sandbar.

And he wondered if John B would’ve steered the boat away without him, if he hadn’t been arguing with Kiara, who wanted to know what John B thought he was going to do. He ignored Kie, and Pope; Liv sat in the stern, watching her brother carefully.

“Yo, J.B. Wanna share?” JJ asked, giving Pope and Kiara a look. They settled in the bow, exchanging looks, and JJ held on as John B steered, doing a U-turn in the water that had them all clinging on. “ _John_. What the fuck are we doing?”

John B didn’t speak; just raised his hand. Neon yellow glowed, silver glinting. The motel key he’d found in the _Grady-White_.


	4. Summer Winds

**Golden Pogues**

_03_

_Summer Winds_

* * *

JJ’s lips parted, but as soon as he did he realised what John B meant to do. JJ glanced over his shoulder at Liv, whose jaw was clamped shut. He made his way over to her, sitting down beside her, and slung his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. She let him, sliding an arm around his waist. The engine rumbled over the sound of his voice.

“You okay?” he asked, using the crook of his elbow to turn Liv’s face to his. He flicked his eyes over her face, reading the tension - the _dread_ \- in her expression, the sadness in her eyes. The blush he’d made appear earlier had vanished, even her lips paling. He had to admit…finding a whole bunch of cash, a $1,500 bottle of whisky and Big John’s compass on a sunken _Grady-White_ , that was…odd. Their _dad’s_ compass.

They hadn’t had any hint of Big John in _nine months_. Now his old compass just showed up?

It was too weird.

And John B…well, JJ knew he refused to believe his dad was truly dead.

Looking at Liv, JJ knew she felt differently - but she knew _exactly_ where John B’s head was at.

What didn’t the twins know about each other? What didn’t they all know about each other - him and John B and Liv?

And this was the sort of thing Liv had been dreading for months - breadcrumbs. Any clue John B could take out of context and spin into a conspiracy theory that _somehow_ …Big John was still alive.

As much as Liv wanted to believe… JJ hugged her closer, sighing. Maybe it was easier _not_ to. It couldn’t hurt nearly as much as John B had been hurting for the last nine months, resisting all evidence, constantly disappointed. Liv sighed, resting her head on his shoulder, and John B steered them through the marsh maze. There were no more sandbars, thankfully, and they made their way to the _Summer Winds Motel_ without incident.

He gave a low whistle when they neared the motel. “I thought the Château looked bad,” he muttered.

“This place is a shit-show,” John B remarked.

“Motel or meth-lab?” Kiara asked.

“You be the judge,” Pope said grimly.

“Doesn’t look like a place somebody with a _Grady-White_ would stay,” John B said.

“No,” Pope agreed, “this looks like a place someone with a _Grady-White_ would get _killed_.”

Liv nudged JJ’s leg, giving him a furtive look, glancing at her brother.

“ _This is your captain speaking._ HMS Pogue _comin’ in for landing_ ,” he said, mimicking the static of a radio signal into his shoulder, and he made his way to the bow, grabbing the line, leaping ashore.

“John B,” Liv said quietly, as JJ tied the line carefully - the cleat wasn’t particularly large to knot the rope properly. He glanced up, watching, as Liv approached her brother, who was already cutting the ignition, a stubborn, determined look on his face. Liv blocked his path. “John. Look at me, please.”

“Liv, outta my way,” John B said, trying to sidestep her.

“John. I want you to _slow down_ ,” Liv said calmly.

“ _Liv_ -“

“He’s not up there.”

John B stared at his sister. JJ couldn’t see her face, but he could see John B’s. And Pope and Kiara exchanged an uneasy look as the twins squared off. Liv was a tall girl, and not easily intimidated - especially when she felt her family would be running headlong into trouble if she didn’t step in.

But… The look on John B’s face was scary, and JJ waited, poised, coiled with tension, because he could pick up on the subtle signals of a brewing storm. Fights between the twins were intense - but rare. Pope and Kiara had never witnessed one. But if anything was going to set the twins off, it was Big John.

“His compass, Liv,” John B exclaimed. “ _Dad’s compass_.”

“On a sunken _Grady-White_ , John B!” Liv said softly, as if she was doing her utmost to be gentle while delivering a death-blow. “With a fifteen-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch and thousands of dollars in cash. Does that sound like Daddy to you?”

“It could be - _it could be_ , he…I don’t know, he could’ve…could’ve hit the motherlode and been headed home to us, and he hit the storm,” John B spluttered, but even to JJ he sounded uncertain - grasping. He sounded like he had the last nine months, whenever anyone suggested to John B that the best thing for him might be to accept that Big John was dead.

“So why the motel-room?” Liv asked reasonably, keeping her voice quiet, calm, and to JJ she sounded like she was desperately trying to avoid picking a fight. “John B, he would have come _home_. A _Grady-White_ and expensive scotch, swimmin’ in cash, and we’re here dodging DCS and hustling to get by, fishing for our supper? Daddy wouldn’t _do_ that to us.”

“Maybe he didn’t have a choice, maybe - “

“ _John_ ,” Liv said, sounding so heartbroken, so tired.

“Liv, just - get out of my way,” John B said sternly.

“No.”

“Liv -“

“No. I’m not letting you leave this boat, half-cocked, wound up over this,” Liv said, and she grabbed the motel key from John B before he could react. She turned in an instant, dodging John B’s hands, and threw the key. “JJ!”

He caught the key, and on instinct, shoved it down his shorts. Kiara started, her lips popping open as she looked away hastily, but John B glowered. Down JJ’s board-shorts was the one place in the world John B wouldn’t go.

“ _Really_?!” John B fumed.

“ _Et tu, Brute_?” Pope muttered, glancing between them. JJ glared at him; he wasn’t helping. When John B got like this - with single-minded purpose that bordered on scary tunnel-vision - only Liv and JJ could get through to him: They knew him too well. Pope was an oddball who lived inside his own head too much, and Kiara was new, hadn’t been around when Big John first went missing. But JJ and Liv, they knew how to handle John B when he got like this: They joined forces.

“Sorry, dude; but I’m with Livi on this one,” JJ said fairly. “You’re friggin’ scary right now.”

“Oh, now I’ve heard everything. I’m getting a lecture from _you_ , JJ? Wow,” John B said, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

“Look - I’m not sayin’ there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that it could be Big John’s room, okay,” JJ said fairly, because…well, that flicker of hope was all that was keeping John B going off the deep end, and they all knew it. “But what if it’s _not_ Big John, huh? Whoever was in the _Grady-White_ during the storm, they had your dad’s compass. Okay, what’re you gonna do? You’re gonna do somethin’ stupid, that’s what, ‘coz it’s your dad, and if it’s not him in that motel-room, then whoever it is knows what happened to Big John.”

“Yeah, exactly!” John B fumed.

“And that’s exactly why you’re staying in the boat,” Liv said strictly. “You’re too emotional about this.”

“And _you_ don’t care!” John B snapped back, and Kie grimaced, Pope wincing, as Liv stared at John B.

Instead of saying something nasty, Liv just stared at her brother - he knew instantly he’d hurt her, his expression a little ashamed, deflating slightly. Then she said, in her babysitting voice, the stern, fair but unyielding one JJ found kinda sexy, “JJ and I will go and check out the room.”

“Uh-huh,” JJ agreed. “Incognito.”

“Don’t let him do anything stupid,” Pope said, gesturing at JJ, who grinned, throwing up the finger at Pope in response.

“You, too,” Liv said, glancing from Pope to Kiara, giving John B a significant look. JJ smiled, reaching out a hand to help Liv off the boat. “We’ll be back. Keep an eye out for trouble.”

“Yeah, you two don’t start any,” Kie said, and JJ grinned.

“Don’t worry,” he teased, “I’ll keep this one in check.” And he slung his arm around Liv’s shoulders, as they strode through the debris.

“What’s with all the mattresses?” Liv asked quietly.

“After a hurricane, they ditch ‘em, ‘coz they’re all mouldy,” JJ sighed.

“What a waste,” Liv sighed, eyeing up the queen-sized mattresses.

“Hey, so, can we talk about the elephant in the _Pogue_?” JJ asked, wanting to distract her.

“Which one?” Liv asked, squinting in the sunshine, and JJ glanced at her.

“Uh…the Kiara-shaped one.”

“And her protective instincts over J.B. being on overdrive?” Liv said, nodding.

“Ever since John’s been threatened with exile, she’s been like…‘oh, just be so _careful_ John B’,” JJ sighed lustily, reaching out to massage Liv’s shoulders, making her giggle, grinning. The dark clouds lifted from her face, and her eyes twinkled with amusement. That was the Liv he liked to see. She glanced back at the boat, where Kie had approached John B, who stood scowling at them, his arms crossed over his chest. “‘Oh, just give me that John D already’.”

“Ew,” she laughed softly, playfully shoving him away. “Gross.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Of course, I’ve noticed,” Liv said, dry humour in her voice.

“Well? When is he gonna swoop on that?” JJ sighed, shaking his head.

“Likely never: It’s _his_ rule, remember. No pogue-on-pogue macking?” Liv said quietly, her gaze lingering on him, and JJ stared back. He was starting to hate that rule. “Anyway, you’re the one who’s always hitting on Kie.”

“Of course I’m hitting on her,” JJ said good-naturedly. “She’s a super-hot, rich hippie-chick slumming with us. Why? I can’t figure it out either, but who cares? I know that door’s locked because I’ve tried it.”

“You have?” Liv paused, staring at him. JJ cursed inwardly.

“Uh…yeah,” he admitted, remembering that it was _Liv_ he was speaking to, not John B. Close as they all were, it was different, recently…he couldn’t talk to Liv the same way he would have John B, especially not about things like girls. But then…he didn’t talk to John B the way he opened up to Liv about his dad. “I mean, whatever. It was ages ago, like, when she first started hanging out with us.”

“Oh,” Liv said quietly, nodding.

“Hey, wait a sec,” JJ said, gently pulling on her elbow, and in a slick move, he had Liv pinned with her back against the wall. He propped his forearms either side of her head, leaning in, smiling.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, smiling, resting her hands on his hips. It wasn’t weird to be this close; it was just unusual that they were _alone_. They had always been physically very close with each other - and _not_ being physically affectionate with Liv would have been weird. Sometimes he lived for her sweet, physically-affectionate gestures. Because if he hadn’t realised people could be physical the way Liv was, he would’ve grown up thinking the only physical interaction people ever had was having the shit kicked out of them by his dad.

“Incognito-mode,” he said, smiling. He could count every single one of the freckles on her nose from here, see how pretty her soft grey-blue eyes were up close. Her hair was starting to curl crazily as it dried, glinting gold in the sunshine. “We’re just two horny kids looking for some privacy. Anybody remembers us being here, that’s all they’ll be able to say. That we were all over each other.”

“Oh, we’re _acting_ ,” Liv said, and she dimpled at him, somehow managing to gaze up at him through her lashes, though there was barely an inch in their heights; she was a tall girl. Her plump lips twitched, and her eyelashes flickered as she glanced from his eyes to his mouth. She grinned, and whispered, “Hey, JJ… Are you gonna get that key, or am I?”

He bit his lip, grinning, and felt himself flush, glancing at her lips as she smiled, dimpling, and cleared his throat, suddenly hard…again… “Well, you know I love hide-and-seek.”

“Come on,” Liv laughed softly, pushing herself off the wall, and she circled his wrist with her fingers, tugging him past another motel-room door. JJ hastily dug out the key, and checked the tag. “Twenty-nine,” he read off the keychain.

“This is us,” Liv said, stopping at the last door. “Can you see any cameras?”

“Nah,” JJ said, giving another covert glance around. “No power, neither. No cameras.”

“And nobody dumb enough to _snitch_ ,” Liv said quietly, glancing down into the courtyard where staff were tiding up the mess. But this wasn’t a four-star hotel in Figure Eight: This was one of the few no-tell motels on the island. It wasn’t the kind of place someone with a _Grady-White_ would be staying… And JJ agreed with Liv: Their dad wouldn’t be holed up here. Big John hadn’t been the best father, chasing the _Royal Merchant_ wreckage with the same tunnel-vision John B had inherited, but JJ knew far worse.

JJ knew bad fathers: Big John _wouldn’t_ have just left his kids to the life they’d been scraping through the last few months.

JJ knocked his knuckles against the door, cooing in a high-pitched voice, “ _Housekeeping_!”

They waited a few seconds, but there was no answer. JJ knocked again, and then on the window. They exchanged a look when there was still no answer, and JJ nodded.

“Let’s see what’s behind door number three,” Liv murmured, unlocking the door. It squeaked as it opened, and the only source of light came from the door as Liv pushed it open: The blinds over both windows were drawn. Neither of the beds looked like they had been slept in; on the nearest bed was a duffel-bag. As JJ clicked on his flashlight and started to explore, Liv closed the door behind her. She had grabbed her backpack before climbing out of the _Pogue_ , and pulled her own flashlight out.

“There’s a jacket here,” JJ said, moving into the room, as Liv approached the duffel bag. “No name, though. Nice jacket.”

“Denim slides… New Balances…” Liv sighed, thinking to herself, this was not her father’s duffel. She checked the sizes on the clothes, knew they were too small - she and John B had inherited Big John’s height. She had done their laundry for so many years, she knew what her dad’s clothes looked like. “Anything in the pockets? Any lens wipes?” Thankfully they hadn’t inherited her dad’s eyesight: He always wore glasses, and had a habit of accumulating tiny packets of moist lens wipes to keep his glasses clean and streak-free. She used to find them in the oddest places; there would always be some in his jacket pockets.

“Nah, nothin’ in the pockets - except some small change,” JJ said, sighing, and turned away from the jacket, jingling the coins in his hand, heading toward the window between the two beds. Liv dug further through the duffel, and her eyes widened, gasping in surprise.

”JJ…whoever he is, this guy knows your cousin. They’ve got a fat bag of his _finest_ right here. What say we liberate it?” Liv said, and JJ chuckled softly.

“Yes, ma’am!” JJ grinned, and Liv tucked the fat bag of weed into her backpack. Liv was no saint - she had started to think of herself as _morally flexible_ when it came to the things she’d do to secure her and John B’s survival - and she had learned to take opportunities wherever they arose. She enjoyed smoking, and this amount of weed would set her and JJ up for the summer. She rummaged around the duffel, found nothing more, and zipped it back up.

“Hey, JJ…” Liv said, glancing over at his outline, illuminated softly by the light seeping through the closed blinds.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for, um…thanks for looking out for John B,” she said softly. He’d said what she couldn’t put into words, squaring off against her twin-brother: But JJ always seemed so intuitive when it came to them. He knew what she’d wanted to say, even if she couldn’t. Because everything he’d said to John B was exactly what she was afraid of. This would be nothing but a disappointment for John B; but it could have been a lot worse.

If this wasn’t her father’s hideout, then it had been rented out by someone close enough to her father, around the time he disappeared, to take his compass.

Their family’s compass, with her name scratched inside it in her dad’s handwriting. It had never been there before. Her dad wouldn’t have…wouldn’t have _tagged_ their family’s antique compass. Not unless…

Whoever had rented out this room either knew where her dad was, or knew what happened to him.

“Hey…” JJ said softly, gazing at her. He bit his lip. “You know I always will, right?”

“I know,” Liv said honestly. Because those boys were closer than brothers. They were all JJ had, like he’d said. He was deathly afraid of his father, and endured his abuse, but _they_ were his family. The Pogues. Her and John B, long before Pope and Kiara had appeared on the scene.

“You doin’ okay?” JJ asked softly, and Liv glanced at him. “I mean…your dad’s compass…that’s pretty weird.”

“I could be better,” Liv admitted, sighing. “JJ, whoever…whoever rented this room, they - they know what happened to my dad. And… I’m worried, when John B finally has to accept that Dad’s not gonna reappear.”

“Don’t worry,” JJ said kindly, “I’ve got him.”

Liv sighed, and nodded: She knew he did.

“Hey, c’mere,” JJ said softly, and Liv wandered over to him, into his open arms. She wrapped her arms around his waist; he hugged her shoulders, sighing as he propped his chin on her shoulder. She sighed, relaxing in his arms. “It’s all gonna be okay, y’know?”

“Yeah?” Liv asked quietly.

“Yeah,” JJ said, rubbing her back. “We got each other, right?”

“Right,” Liv smiled, and the unwound from each other. She sighed, glancing down at the bedside cabinet stuck between the two beds, meagre light filtering through the blinds. “What’s this?”

“Figured, maybe this is where they were out, during the storm?” JJ said, the ring on his forefinger glinting as he pointed out a _Post-It_ note with numbers scribbled on it; coordinates. Liv didn’t recognise the handwriting.

“Why would they be out there?” Liv said, frowning. “Those coordinates are off the continental shelf.” She pulled her cell-phone out of her backpack, out of its protective _Ziploc_ baggie, and took a picture of the map as JJ shone the flashlight on it; John B wouldn’t believe that there was nothing to see in the motel-room, if they didn’t show him. “Isn’t that Big Swell?”

“Yeah…” JJ frowned, nodding. “Yeah, that is. Nobody fishes there. Hm…” Liv noticed a scrap of paper, tucked under the phone, with a series of numbers hastily scribbled on it. They flicked their flashlights around, over the console where an old TV stood beside a coffee station. “Coffee. Standard. Tissues…for when you get _lonely_.” JJ grinned at her, wiggling his eyebrows, and drifted into the bathroom, as Liv flicked her flashlight over the console again, noticing something. The safe was engaged. Usually, hotels left the safe door ajar if it wasn’t in use. She frowned, shining her flashlight back at the bedside cabinet, the map…and the series of numbers scribbled down.

“Ooh!” JJ cooed delightedly from inside the bathroom.

“You find a blow-up doll in the bathtub?” Liv teased, checking the numbers on the scrap-paper. _6-1-6-6-6-6_.

“Naw. But there’s a really awesome Dopp kit you won’t let me steal,” JJ said.

“Why wouldn’t I let you steal it?” Liv asked, turning to the safe, and punching in the code. “Anything your cousin can sell through the ice-cream van?”

“Nah,” JJ sighed. The safe beeped, the lock disengaging, and Liv opened the door. Her jaw dropped. Stacks of cash, a manila envelope - and a gun. She shivered at the sight of the gun - she had never seen one outside of a television-screen - and stared at the cash for a heartbeat. That was…her future - _their_ future. This was a weight off her chest for the next few _years_ … This was insurance for her emancipation, the mortgage…getting them on their feet again.

She stared at the cash. And then she realised JJ had gone quiet, which made her look up: He had reappeared in the doorway, his face unusually serious, confused. In his hand, he held an orange pill bottle.

“I, uh… I know whose room this is,” he said quietly.

“Whose?” Liv asked.

“Scooter Grubbs,” JJ said, waving the pill-bottle, and Liv stared incredulously.

“Scooter Grubbs?” she repeated disbelievingly. She shook her head. “No way.”

“It says so, right here,” JJ said, showing her the bottle, shining his flashlight on the label. There it was, in black and white. Liv stared at the letters. Why would Scooter Grubbs…?

“JJ… I found something, too,” Liv said quietly, nodding at the opened safe.

“Holy _shit_ ,” JJ gawped, when he squatted down beside her. As he reached for the gun, Liv went for the envelope. There were a couple sheets of paper inside.

And her heart stopped as she slipped them out of the envelope. Not just pieces of paper. Photographs. High-quality photographs taken underwater, of a figurehead, an angelic woman holding a horn. She knew that figurehead. It was in most of her father’s books, and on the reconstruction model in the Maritime Museum where Dad used to take them every month as kids, on the way to the public library. Blinking quickly, she took photographs with her cell-phone, and tucked the originals back into the envelope, stashing it back inside the safe.

JJ, who had been posing excitedly with the gun, dropped into a squat and frowned at her, reaching out to tuck a lock of her hair out of her face.

“Liv?” he asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I know what Scooter was doing,” she said softly, staring hard at the contents of the safe. “And that gun better have the safety on!”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” JJ said, checking the gun just in case.

“I can’t believe you went for the gun and not the cash,” Liv said, staring hard at the contents of the safe. Scooter Grubbs, with underwater photographs of the figurehead of the _HMS Royal Merchant_ vessel, sailing a brand-new _Grady-White_ , with her father’s compass in the cargo-hold? Not to mention a shit-tonne of cash? Her heart was thumping in her chest.

For a heartbeat, she stared at the cash.

She had never outright stolen before - she’d never been in this kind of position before, and usually, it was a point of pride that she wasn’t what people in Figure Eight would stereotype her as - trash. But this…

Her dad’s compass, DCS, the _Grady-White_ , it was… Fate.

It was… _blood-money_. Whatever this was, whoever Scooter Grubbs had been working for, they were involved in whatever had happened to her dad. His life’s work, his obsession, _his_ compass…

“Liv?” JJ said gently, looking concernedly at her as she reached for the wads of cash, stuffing every single one into her backpack. She zipped her backpack up, and engaged the lock on the safe. JJ looked…surprised, almost startled - as if he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, that Liv would steal tens of thousands of dollars in cash.

“You can’t tell the others,” she whispered, her heart pounding, suddenly flushed - with shame, but it didn’t matter. This was their future.

“Uh - “

“I mean it, JJ. Not Pope, not Kie - and you let me tell John B,” Liv said sternly, though her voice shook a little. “Promise me!”

JJ stared at her, biting his lip, then he sighed, nodding so his blonde hair shimmered pale-gold in the beam of the flashlight.

“Alright. I promise. My word as a Pogue,” he said, drawing an X over his heart with his fingertip, his ring glinting. “You’re gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, right?”

“Later,” Liv sniffed, wiping sweat from her chin. “C’mon. It’s so stuffy in here.”

“Alright,” JJ sighed, as Liv pulled on her backpack, much heavier now, stuffed with contraband and stolen cash. JJ frowned, whirling around, as something hit the window between the beds. They exchanged a look, and JJ approached the window, ducking under the blinds.

“What is it?”

“Uh… It’s John B. _Shit_. Cops.”

“ _Kildare County Sheriff’s Department_!” a male voice called outside the door, and they whirled, hearts in their mouths. Wide-eyed, they stared at each other. She had a backpack full of stolen money and drugs, and JJ had a _Sig-SAUER_ tucked into the waist of his shorts.

“We’re literally at a dead-end,” Liv breathed.

JJ cupped her face in his hands briefly, grinning. “Watch and learn, grasshopper.” He slid the window open, leaving the blind down, and Liv started to smile, as JJ clambered out of the window. She held the blind out of the way, making sure it didn’t rattle, and he did the same for her when it was her turn to climb out. At the last minute, she peeled the _Post-It_ with coordinates off the map on the bedside-cabinet, replacing it with the safe code. She made sure the blind wasn’t swinging wildly, and JJ shoved the window closed.

Below them, John B was wandering casually back to the _Pogue_ , tossing one of JJ’s hacky sacks. Pope had his head in his hands and Kiara looked like she was about to have an anxiety attack, sat at the cockpit, ready with her hand on the keys in the ignition to peel before they could all get busted.

Grinning, JJ waved his fingers flirtatiously at them, as they clung up to the gutter pipes for dear life, pressing themselves against the wall.

They hid. They waited, barely breathing.

They had tucked themselves as far from the window as they could, balancing on the lean-to where the dumpsters were hidden. Liv caught JJ’s eye, and he grinned, his eyes glittering with amusement.

This was the one problem with being a Pogue: You ended up doing dumb stuff like _this_. This was their _normal_.

Liv tried not to breathe, to even move - she was sure the cops could hear her heart pounding in her ears, the cash whispering to them from her backpack, her fingerprints all over the safe, the weed in her bag giggling with anticipation at her being busted. This was it! Theft and possession - she could kiss her freedom goodbye!

How had they known to come here?

Had Scooter survived the storm? If so, why would _cops_ be here?

Doing her best not to make a sound, Liv peeked through the window. With the blinds drawn, the room beyond was dark, and she couldn’t make out much - but the cops had left the door open, and some light shone across the carpet, enough to illuminate an older male cop with a moustache and silvering hair, crouched in front of the locked safe. He wore gloves, and a female officer with her hair in a neat coil was pulling on her own pair.

“ _Strange thing to keep in a safe_ ,” the female officer said softly, as the Deputy took out the envelope.

“ _Yeah_ ,” agreed the male sheriff. She had seen him before, Sheriff Peterkin’s deputy. Shoupe. He’d been involved when her dad first went missing. She watched the Deputy open the envelope, and he went still, thoughtful, when he shone his flashlight over the images.

“ _What’s that_?” the female officer asked.

“ _Well, that’s a figurehead. Looks like Scooter found a wreck_ ,” the Deputy shrugged, tucking the images away. “ _Why don’t you go ahead and bag that up? Strange. You’d think Scooter would’ve locked his cash in the safe, not some photographs_.”

“ _Scooter Grubbs? I wouldn’t have thought he’d have two nickels to rub together_ ,” said the female officer.

“ _You’d think_ ,” said Deputy Shoupe. “ _Guys like him always have somethin’ goin’ on the side. Just a matter of finding out what. You get anything in the bathroom_?”

“ _Expensive Dopp kit, some prescription meds. How did you know this was Scooter Grubbs’ room_?” the female officer asked, and Liv frowned through the window.

“ _Got a tip we might find him out here_ ,” Deputy Shoupe said evasively. “ _His wife’s causing a scene, wanting to raise a Missing Person’s report_.”

“ _Scooter Grubbs the kind of guy who disappears on his wife a lot_?”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Shoupe sighed. “ _But Lana claims he was out in the storm_.”

“ _We haven’t had a real missing person’s case since John Routledge_.”

“ _Uh-huh_ ,” Deputy Shoupe agreed. “ _Still got no leads on that. Peterkin’s worried about those kids_.”

“ _I see the girl at Jones’ Diner. She’s always got a smile on her face_ ,” said the female officer softly.

“ _Tough kid_ ,” Deputy Shoupe sighed. “ _Well, we’re not gonna get much else from this place. Let’s go_.” Liv caught JJ’s eye, and they waited, coiled with tension, listening to the cops moving around the room, then the gentle _schnick_ of the door closing behind them. They heard voices, the same ones, now clearer, but getting quieter. Liv sighed in relief, rubbing her face with a shaking hand, and glanced over at the _Pogue_ , where John B was keeping a covert eye on the cops; as if gesturing to Kiara, John B nodded and raised a thumbs-up.

“What the fuck was that?” JJ murmured, frowning.

“Did you get the impression Deputy Shoupe thought there’d be money in the safe?” Liv asked, still barely daring to raise her voice above a whisper.

“Shoupe?”

“I recognised him, from when we reported Daddy missing,” Liv said.

“It _was_ weird he went straight for the safe,” JJ admitted. “And what’s with him being tipped off that Scooter Grubbs would be here? Who’d talk to cops?”

“It’s not even been twenty-four hours since the storm,” Liv said. “Ms Lana would have to wait that long before she could file a missing-persons report.”

“So why’re the cops snooping through Scooter’s motel room already?” JJ asked, frowning, and Liv pulled a face.

“That is the million-dollar question,” Liv said, sighing. “Hey, JJ,” Liv said, as JJ jumped down onto the dumpster, landing with an echoing bang. He turned, squinting in the sunshine as he gazed up at her.

“Yeah?”

“You promised, remember? Let me tell John B,” she said softly.

“Sure, yeah,” JJ said, glancing over his shoulder as John B approached, long legs eating up the distance. JJ hopped down from the dumpster, and turned, reaching up - Liv smiled and leaned over, hands on his shoulders, to let him help her down. Sometimes, he was an idiot: And sometimes, JJ was the sweetest, most thoughtful guy ever.


	5. Cash & Conspiracies

**Golden Pogues**

_04_

_Cash & Conspiracies_

* * *

“Well?” John B prompted, almost stepping on their toes, he was so close.

“Can we please just get back on the boat before you start your interrogation?” Liv asked, sidestepping him, trying to figure out just how to tell John B exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“Not that it wasn’t fun,” JJ grinned, sauntering after her, “but you could’ve given us a _little_ bit more of a warning. You know, just sayin’.”

“I thought you liked livin’ on the edge, JJ,” John B quipped.

“Come on,” Liv sighed, climbing into the _HMS Pogue_.

“Well?”

“Yeah, what’d you find?” Pope asked, as Kiara gazed at them expectantly.

“Why were the cops there?” Kiara asked anxiously.

“Later. Can we just go, please?” Liv said, and she glanced around as John B dropped into the boat; JJ was bent over, unknotting the line. For a second, she admired the view; then he straightened up, and tossed the line back into the boat, giving them a shove to dislodge them before hopping in.

“ _Okay_ …fine. Where are we going?” Kiara asked.

“Fishing,” Liv said. “C’mon. Let’s go!”

“What about the _Grady-White_? The finder’s fee?” Pope asked, frowning.

“With the cops searching that motel-room? Dude, forget we even saw that boat,” JJ sighed, settling in beside Liv at the stern, elbows on his knees, adjusting his baseball cap over his eyes. “Let’s go catch some fish, man! Head to my spot, Kie - fish’ll be leaping into the boat!”

“Would one of you please just tell us what you found?” John B asked agitatedly. “Why were the cops there?”

“When we’re in open water, John,” Liv said, over the noise of the engine. Liv sat, frowning to herself, as Kiara steered them back through the marsh maze, mindful of the sandbar - and the wrecked _Grady-White_ \- out to JJ’s favourite place to fish.

As soon as they had dropped the anchor overboard, Kiara cut the engine, and sudden quiet enveloped them, the heat searing them from above, reflecting off the water. Once they had cast their lines and nets, John B turned to them, his expression intent.

“Okay, we’re out on open water, nobody to overhear,” John B prompted.

“Yeah, what’s with all the cloak-and-dagger stuff?” Pope asked. JJ opened his mouth, but glanced at Liv. How to start?

“The motel-room was rented out by Scooter Grubbs,” Liv said, glancing at John B, who frowned, visibly deflating.

“Scooter Grubbs?!” Pope repeated sceptically.

“Yeah, dude; I saw his name on prescription bill bottles, an’ everything,” JJ said, nodding.

“I mean, this is _Scooter Grubbs_. Same dude that’s buying individual cigarettes at the _Porthole_?” John B said sceptically, shaking his head as if he was trying to shake water from his ears. “Shit, one time I saw this dude begging for change in the Save-a-Lot parking lot because he needed gas. We’re talking about a dirt-bag marina rat who’s never had more than forty bucks in his pocket, and all of a sudden, he’s got a _Grady-White_? What else was in the motel-room?”

JJ glanced quickly at Liv, wondering what she’d do. She wore her sunglasses over her eyes, and her plump lips betrayed nothing.

“John B,” Liv said quietly, sighing heavily, and JJ braced for impact. She had pulled her cell-phone out of its protective waterproof baggie, and handed it to her brother. He took the phone, cupping his hand over the screen so he could see it. “D’you recognise that?”

For a moment, John B squinted at the screen. Then he blinked several times, and glanced up at Liv. “It’s… That’s the figurehead of the _Royal Merchant_.”

“When you say the _Royal Merchant_ , you mean ’The’ _Royal Merchant_? Lost in the Great Storm of 1829 _Royal Merchant_? Millions in lost gold, _Royal Merchant_?” Pope clarified excitedly. John B stared at Liv, passing back her phone.

“And that’s not just a photograph of a reconstructed model of the _Merchant_ ,” Liv said heavily, tucking her phone away for safekeeping. “That is an image taken by a high-quality underwater camera, taken _on the seabed_. That is the kind of tech only someone with a _Grady-White_ to give away could afford. The cops were talking about Scooter Grubbs like they…like they knew it was his motel-room, and it was like…like they were gathering up evidence.”

“Yeah, that’s what it looked like!” John B shrugged.

“You’re missing the point, John B,” Liv said, with pent-up exasperation. “When Daddy went missing, we had to wait, right? We overheard Deputy Shoupe tell the other officer that Lana Grubbs was causing a scene, wanting to file a missing-persons report…”

“But it hasn’t been twenty-four hours since the storm,” John B frowned, realisation sparking.

“So what were the cops doing at Scooter Grubbs’ motel-room, turning it over like it’s a crime-scene, if, as far as anyone knows, no crime has been committed, and no investigation has been opened?” Liv prompted, and John B exchanged a look with Pope. JJ nodded, pulling a face.

“You ask me, Shoupe’s dirty,” JJ said, glancing at Liv, who shot him a sceptical look. “He took stuff from that room, right - he told the other officer that he got a _tip_ Scooter’d be holed up at that motel. And - remember, Liv? - he said he was surprised there was no cash in the safe… As if he went there _lookin’_ for it.”

“Or was sent to get it,” Liv muttered under her breath, and JJ nodded. She settled against the stern, the money burning a hole in her backpack, sudden shame mingling with her burning desire to _survive_ \- and the knots in the pit of her stomach that told her, in her gut, that…the compass resurfacing after all these months wasn’t a clue supporting John B’s theory that her dad was still alive, but rather, a confirmation of his death.

She didn’t mention the money in her backpack. Neither did JJ, taking her lead, though he kept glancing at her. He adjusted his red-and-grey baseball cap, and Liv sighed. “So…nine months ago, Dad goes missing, after telling us he thinks he’s found something and might have to disappear for a while,” Liv said, and John B shot her a dangerous, alarmed look. “And he does. And now we find Daddy’s compass, in a _Grady-White_ with more cash than Scooter Grubbs could make in _years_ , and a motel-key that leads us to photographs of the _Merchant_ , with maps and coordinates?”

“He told you he had to disappear?” JJ asked, frowning, glancing between Liv and John B, who closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “You never said that before.”

“That’s why John B thinks…” Liv trailed off, and JJ realised… That was why John B was still holding out hope, against all proof and logic, that Big John was still alive. Because his dad had said he had to disappear for a while. And then he did. The others realised the same thing, at the same time; and Kiara sighed, raising a hand to her mouth, while Pope frowned seriously.

“They _never_ found his boat,” John B said stubbornly. “Never found a _body_.”

“John, they - that amount of cash, to just throw at a marina rat like Scooter Grubbs?” JJ grimaced. “I mean, that’s… You can afford to write off a _Grady-White_? Then you’ve got the money to make your problems go away.”

“John B…think about it,” Liv said, with a sad sort of kindness that was heart-breaking to hear. Because it was Liv, who had gone through the same things John B had these last nine months, trying to talk her twin-brother into facing a very painful reality. It shouldn’t have to be that way. But it was. “Dad told us he had to disappear for a while… He was going into _hiding_ over that damn ship. He _told us_ , he told us, before he went missing; he said he thought he found something…and Scooter Grubbs shows up nearly a year later, with Dad’s compass and photos of the _Merchant_?”

“He could’ve - maybe he was working with Scooter?”

“That’s a reach, J.B.,” JJ winced, glancing at his best-friend. Suddenly, John B’s behaviour the last nine months made sense. Of course he would refuse to accept that Big John was dead: In John B’s mind, it had been his father’s intention to fall off the face of the earth - and could reappear at any moment. But… JJ got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Scooter Grubbs knew a lot of people, but he didn’t have any cash, and your dad was definitely the one who knew anything worth knowing about the _Merchant_. Nah, he’s doing someone’s dirty-work for ‘em.”

“Dad never shared his research with _anyone_ ,” Liv added quietly. “He kept his office locked our _entire lives_ because he was so afraid someone would get a glimpse of his research and get ahead of him, get to that gold before he could.”

“So, what…you think someone, what, _killed_ Dad for his research?” John B asked, his tone a mixture of hostility and derision - as if he refused to believe it, and was angry Liv would even think it.

“I’ve gotta admit,” Pope spoke up quietly, “$400 million dollars in gold is pretty good incentive to kill someone. Especially if they’re the only other person who knew where the gold was.”

“Hang on, guys, I mean -“ Kiara spoke up, “okay, we’ve taken a huge leap from your dad going missing to him being _murdered_ -“

“Okay, fine,” JJ capitulated, glancing at Liv. “Maybe that is a stretch, but you’ve gotta admit, it is suspicious that Big John’s compass was in Scooter’s boat, and the photos of the _Merchant_ were in his motel-room. Not even his _home_ , his motel-room - like he was hiding out there. That doesn’t seem shady to you?”

“And what’s with the cop showing up?” Pope asked. “I mean - who tipped him off? Do they know something about Scooter already?”

“All likelihood, Scooter Grubbs drowned in the storm,” JJ shrugged. “Whoever gave him the _Grady-White_ sent the deputy to clean up after him, get rid of any evidence of what they were doing. And _that_ makes me wonder. If Scooter wasn’t involved in anything suspicious, why bother sending cops to clean up evidence?”

“I’ve got a better question. Who could provide Scooter Grubbs with a _Grady-White_ and all that cash, _and_ have the nerve to use the Sheriff’s Department as their personal clean-up crew?” Liv asked grimly, and JJ sighed.

“ _Kooks_ ,” he said, and Liv nodded. “Fucking _kooks_.”

“What d’you mean?” Kie frowned in the sunshine, her fingers knitted together in her lap, twisting - she only did that when she was anxious, and she kept glancing at John B as if expecting him to flip out and jump overboard any minute. JJ had to admit, John B had that crazy intense look in his eye they knew so well. And that was why Liv had wanted them on open-water, anchored - so John B couldn’t tear back to the motel, or to Scooter Grubbs’ house in search of him, demanding answers.

“It’s got _kook_ stench all over it, man,” JJ grunted, clenching his jaw. “Use pogues to get what you want, and leave them with a mess we’ve got no hope of cleaning up. They wash their hands of us, all the while we’re _buried_ ‘coz we don’t have the money to get away with it like they do.”

“Someone has been using Scooter Grubbs to get to the _Merchant_ ,” Liv said, reaching out to touch JJ’s arm, gentling him; he was getting agitated, he knew, and he sighed, and settled. “Scooter had Dad’s compass… I think…either they did something to Dad, or they know what happened and aren’t saying anything, ‘coz it’s in their interests to let everybody think Dad’s just still missing. Everybody’s wondering _where_ Dad is, they’re not thinking _why_ he disappeared. But we know it was because of the _Merchant_. And I think maybe Scooter knows what actually happened. Whoever is bankrolling him, they don’t want anyone to find out they have any connection to him - because if…if they were to find out that Scooter has Dad’s compass, and leaned on Scooter for who was bankrolling him…”

“They’d be implicated in your dad’s disappearance,” Pope concluded, and Liv nodded. “The cops would relaunch their investigation into your dad’s disappearance, they’d lean on Scooter Grubbs for information… Anything he had from the kook would be used as evidence in the investigation, drag _them_ into it…”

“You don’t know that it was a kook,” Kie said reasonably.

“Who else would it be?!” JJ spluttered. “If it _looks_ like a kook and _quacks_ like a kook -“

“ _You_ thought the _Grady-White_ belonged to square groupers!” Kiara reminded them. “Kooks aren’t the only ones who can afford _Grady-Whites_. Maybe Scooter was working with, I don’t know, some drug-lord or something - y’know, like, we all think they’re upstanding, whatever, but they’re making their money off drugs or guns.”

“Like a _mob-boss_? In Outer Banks?” John B said sceptically.

“I’m just saying, this all sounds… _corrupt_ ,” Kiara said, shrugging.

“What, _kooks_ can’t be corrupt?” JJ scoffed. “Are you kidding me? You go to _school_ with them! How many of them can you honestly say are squeaky clean, even at our age? How many of them have bought off the cops to avoid getting charged for possession or vandalism - or like that kid from Figure Eight who drove drunk and crashed his car and killed the girl from the Cut he was hanging around with? Whatever happened to that dude, huh? He got _probation_ ‘coz his mommy is on some committee with the judge’s wife. He should’ve been locked up for twenty-five to life -”

“Okay, I see your point,” Kiara capitulated, sighing.

“Anyway, square groupers wouldn’t use the cops as their personal bodyguards and maid-services,” JJ asked. “They handle their own business. Keep everything _in_ -house.”

They fell silent for a few minutes, water lapping gently against the side of the boat, and when Pope hooked a fish, he turned to reel in his catch.

Kiara sighed heavily. “So what do we do now? Report the wreck?”

“Forget that,” JJ said, shaking his head, frowning, thinking over everything they’d just talked about. “Scooter Grubbs is missing, the cops’ll be all over that wreck. We’d be the first people they’d ask if we found anything on the boat.”

“I think…we just pretend like we never found the wreck,” Liv said, glancing at JJ, who nodded slowly.

“No-one’s gonna remember _us_ being at the motel, ‘coz the cops showed up right after,” JJ said, and Liv nodded. “And even if they did, we’ll just say Liv and I wanted some privacy.” He shrugged, as Kiara raised her eyebrows. John B stared at him. “What?”

“Nothin’,” John B sighed, holding his hands up.

“So what _do_ we do?” Pope asked.

John B frowned, gazing out over the water. “Well…when he resurfaces, we ask Scooter Grubbs what he was doing with Dad’s compass.”

“Uh…how are you gonna do that, without tipping Scooter off that we found the wreck, and the compass, and the motel-room?” Pope asked reasonably.

John B grimaced, and sighed heavily. “I don’t…know. We’ll think of something. Look, he works for the Camerons, right? He’ll eventually have to show up to work.”

“Liv?” JJ frowned gently, because Liv had suddenly straightened up, staring at her twin-brother, her lips parted. “What is it?”

“It’s just…he works for Ward Cameron.”

“Yeah…so do a lot of people,” John B said slowly. “Including me.”

“I know. He gave you the job when Daddy disappeared,” Liv said softly, frowning, something unfurling in the back of her mind, a wisp of thought, a suspicion…but her mind was carrying away with itself, too wound up by all they’d learned in the last couple of hours alone. Her father’s compass, Scooter Grubbs, a _Grady-White_ …

She was looking for connections - because she wanted answers just as much as John B did. And she was happy to let her mind solve the mystery of her father’s disappearance as quickly and neatly as possible, and thinking there was something strange about Mr Cameron offering John B a job right after their father disappeared, and for one of his other employees to be out in a _Grady-White_ during the hurricane, with photographs of the _Royal Merchant_ ship’s wreckage locked in a safe with tens of thousands of dollars in cash… Liv adjusted her sunglasses with a sigh, concealing her eyes, as JJ frowned thoughtfully at her, searching her face.

There was a nasty taste in her mouth as she thought of it, because, well…John B’s job had been a life-saver sometimes, over the last nine months. But it was too weird.

And too much of a tenuous connection to tell John B her suspicion. Because it was only that - a suspicion. And John B needed his job - and needed to _not_ be arrested for assault when he took out nine months’ frustration and anger on his boss. Because something told her that that was what John B was heading toward - an explosion of Hiroshima-like proportions.

One whisper of a potential clue, however misleading, and John B would throw himself head-first into the whirlpool amid sharks and sea-monsters, determined to get to the truth - no matter if he drowned.

Liv knew her brother.

And she knew how much his last fight with their dad tortured John B. Because if Big John really was dead, and the last thing John B had said to him was that he was a shitty father…

Sooner or later, John B would have to reconcile that _that_ was what he had to live with, his last memory of their dad, who had then proven John B’s point, by taking their utilities and mortgage money and disappearing past the horizon.

It was dumb, but every morning before she left for work, she scanned the dock for her dad’s boat. And every night when she returned home, she’d check again. John B didn’t know that; he didn’t think she _cared_ for their dad to return. In his mind, accepting that they had to look out for themselves, because nobody else was going to, was tantamount to accepting their father’s death. Liv thought she was being proactive: John B thought she was being heartless.

“Come on… I’m tired of talking about this,” Liv sighed. “Let’s not waste the rest of a beautiful day.”

“Y’know, I think I’m just gonna chill,” JJ said, digging around in his backpack for his _Altoids_ tin. Kiara rolled her eyes, and brought out her _iPod_ and notebook, humming to herself and jotting down song lyrics as she relaxed on her towel, while Pope adjusted the reel of his fishing-pole.

They all had a lot to think about, and none more than Liv and John B, who sat quietly, fiddling with his dad’s compass, murmuring occasionally with Pope as they fished. They were all quiet, and they started to relax, to forget about the _Grady-White_ , and the implications of finding the _Merchant_ photographs in Scooter Grubbs’ room. Liv spread out her beach-towel at the bow, carefully extricating a sketchbook and her paint-set from her backpack, and Kiara tossed her bottle of sunscreen to JJ as he dumped his _Coors_ vest on top of his boots, settling in beside Liv and adjusting his shark-tooth necklace.

He watched as Liv stripped off her diner uniform again, revealing her bikini beneath, and he enjoyed the view as she adjusted the top, then shook her hair back, coiling the riotous curls up on top of her head, loose curls tumbling in the breeze, glinting like gold. Her hair was never perfect, but it was always sexy, and he sighed to himself as he finished slathering sunscreen on his arms, legs and chest, before passing the bottle to her without even thinking about it. It was their habit to slather sunscreen on each other. And he enjoyed it when her fingertips dipped a half-inch below the waist of his shorts as she massaged sunscreen into his back, making sure he wouldn’t burn anywhere. And she smiled, when he rubbed the sunscreen between his fingertips, and reached up to rub it onto her ears - she _always_ forgot. But he never did. It was his turn to slather sunscreen on her back, and he savoured it, his hands on her, making sure to get her waist, and under her bikini straps, the backs of her thighs - they did this so often, it wasn’t awkward; but JJ secretly enjoyed it.

“J.B., it’s your turn!” JJ teased, advancing on his best-friend with the sunscreen bottle and a wicked grin. “Ready for your massage?”

“You lay a hand on me, you’re goin’ overboard,” John B muttered, dodging JJ’s hand, and they all laughed as the boys contorted and played, and JJ eventually passed the bottle over to Liv; John B sighed, but sat still as she rubbed sunscreen into his skin.

“You’re already starting to burn,” she chided, frowning, pressing her hand against John B’s shoulder. “Didn’t you put any sunscreen on this morning?”

“Must’ve washed off,” John B shrugged unconcernedly, as Liv gave JJ a disapproving frown. Liv was very concerned about them aging prematurely, and about inviting skin-cancer into their lives. Especially as they didn’t have the cash or health-insurance to cover the cost of treatments. Thinking of money, JJ glanced at Liv, and frowned to himself, wondering why she hadn’t mentioned the cash yet.

As Liv sank onto the towel, she asked, “You got your splitter?” He nodded, smiling, and rummaged around in his backpack for his ancient _iPod_ Video - a hand-me-down from his cousin - and his headphones, his old input splitter; Liv uncoiled her earphones, and JJ turned his _iPod_ on, lighting up, and rested back, dangling his bare feet in the water, adjusting his cap and sunglasses to shield his face, as Liv tucked her earphones in. They listened to music, and shared a joint, while Liv painted and JJ just relaxed, splashing his toes in the water.

“Hey, anybody got any food?” he mumbled after a little while, tugging his headphones down around his neck.

“He’s hungry,” Kiara sighed, sounding amused.

“He’s always hungry,” Liv said softly, and he glanced around in time to watch her bending over to open the bag she had brought from the diner. He stifled a groan, and she returned with a takeout container.

“Uh-uh,” she said, holding the box of food out of reach. “If I’m feeding the jukebox, I get to pick the music.”

“Alright, fine,” he sighed, and Liv smiled, handing over the box of food. They shared a BLT, cold ranch potatoes and a cinnamon-roll, and Liv commandeered his _iPod_ , clicking onto her favourite playlist, all 1960s classic rock and Motown, anything that might’ve been inspired by the soundtrack of _Pirate Radio_ , his favourite movie ever, featuring the late, great Phillip Seymour-Hoffman and Bill Nighy. Liv had a thing for him.

JJ always teased her about it - but then, he had a thing for Meryl Streep. He thought she was _classy_.

The rest of the world disappeared into the shimmering water, as JJ lay back, his head in Liv’s lap as she painted in her overstuffed sketchbook, their toes dabbling in the water. _Tranquil_ , Liv called days like this, _a place out of time_ : She said they reminded her of books like _The Wind in the Willows, Blue Lagoon, Tom Sawyer_ and _Huckleberry Finn_ , _The Odyssey_ , _Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_ , _The Swiss Family Robinson_ , _In the Heart of the Sea_ \- all her favourite books inspired by the water. With no cell-service, no distractions, they were forced to spend time with each other, to talk and play. They fished, and they flirted with the girls, and the boys laughed and joked around. JJ and Liv passed the joint between them, enjoying their smoke and the sunshine, the water, and the music, the motion of the water as lulling as the weed.

Someone shook him gently by the shoulder, and JJ snorted, jerking awake. “What?” he groaned, disoriented, half-blinded by the sun, already getting low over the horizon.

“We’re headed back,” Liv said, smiling; and JJ grunted softly as he sat up, getting a sudden head-rush from being laid down so long, and Liv passed him his _Coors_ vest. His skin felt like it was bubbling, and he was lightheaded; he chugged a bottle of water and tucked his stash back into his backpack. Pope turned the key in the ignition, the _Pogue_ rumbling from his sleep like a grumpy old drunk. JJ had always thought of the _HMS Pogue_ as an old man; cantankerous, rundown, with saltwater in his veins, always up for a good time.

They dropped Kiara off first, headed to a dinner-shift at _The Wreck_ , her parents’ restaurant, and Pope muttered under his breath about having done so little interview prep as they idled at the end of the dock outside _Heyward’s Seafood_. Liv climbed out, a crisp $50 bill from Mrs Crain in her pocket, and couldn’t shake the feeling Pope was using her as a human-shield as they entered the store.

Mr Heyward gave his son a disapproving look, but had the grace not to chew his son out in front of paying customers; Pope was lucky, that his father’s store was swarming with tourists and local pogues restocking their pantries and bait-boxes after the storm, although Liv wondered about delaying the inevitable - Pope’s grounding. They wouldn’t see him for a few days; especially as he had his merit scholarship essay to write.

“Hi, Mr Heyward,” Liv smiled, thankful for the shade and Mr Heyward’s air-conditioning; she wanted to lie down in the bed of ice keeping the fish fresh.

“Look what the wind blew in,” Mr Heyward sighed, giving his son a look that promised punishment. “I sure hope you enjoyed your afternoon, son.”

“Yes, sir,” Pope said, but it was with a sense of resignation rather than sass - he knew what was coming. He _had_ enjoyed his afternoon - and it’d be the last out with his friends for a few days.

“Got everything in Mrs Crain’s order, Olivia,” Mr Heyward told her, one of the few people in the world who ever called her by her full name. He turned, and gathered a couple carrier-bags from one of his refrigerator units.

“Thank you; she’ll appreciate it,” Liv said, handing him over the money when he rang up the total. Mr Heyward sighed, handing her the change, which she pocketed; she knew better than to ask whether he’d put anything aside for her, on account of them encouraging Pope’s insolence earlier today. But he sighed, and handed her a third bag.

“Juice, some bread, a box o’ grits,” he sighed, and Liv smiled, flushing delicately, as she accepted the bag.

“Thank you, Mr Heyward,” she said softly, and Pope’s dad nodded, sighing, and turned to another customer waiting behind her; she gathered up the bags and Pope slunk off to get started on his usual chores before his dad had to ask him. Pope wasn’t a bad kid; and neither were they, really. They just coaxed out whatever recklessness was in him.

Liv carried the bags back to the _Pogue_.

“What a _gentleman_!” Liv cooed, as JJ held out his hands to take the bags, and John B yawned widely, not budging.

“That’s me,” JJ dimpled, helping her down into the boat. “Heyward lay into Pope?”

“Not in front of customers,” Liv said softly. “He’ll probably be grounded for a few days. At least, until he’s written his scholarship essay.”

“Right,” JJ sighed, shaking his head slightly.

“Where’re we headed?” John B asked.

“Mrs Crain’s,” Liv said, “then home. I’ve gotta figure out what needs to be cooked from the freezer.”

“You’re gonna stay up late and play with us?” JJ gasped, teasing.

“I may even see eight o’clock,” Liv said, smiling.

“Are you workin’ tomorrow?”

“All day,” Liv sighed. “The diner, then babysitting ‘til dinnertime. I’ve got to think about what I’m gonna do with the kids.”

“Can’t you just take ‘em out surfing?” JJ asked, shrugging.

“Yeah, a seven-year-old, a five-year-old and a four-year-old, I am _not_ even touching that,” Liv laughed softly. She sighed, as John B steered them back toward Mrs Crain’s house. As far as they could tell, from the water, there wasn’t a single light on at the house, even though the sun was starting to set, and the property was doused in shadow.

“Mrs Crain not got a generator?” John B asked, JJ adjusting his cap.

“I thought she did,” Liv said, frowning. “You guys come with me?”

“In the _dark_?!” JJ blurted, and Liv’s lips twitched in a smirk, grabbing his hand to tug him toward the side of the boat. He tied the line, and sighed, knowing he’d follow wherever Liv led him, even in to the axe-murderess’ house at night. He knew it had only been this morning he’d seen Mrs Crain in person, eaten cake she’d offered him - but…well, he’d grown up with stories of her. He couldn’t help the shiver that went up his spine as they approached the dark house, and he almost didn’t notice that Liv was still holding his hand.

It felt nice.

“Today turned out to be a really _weird_ day,” JJ observed, as they strolled to the porch.

“Didn’t it, though?” Liv sighed heavily.

“There’s not a single light on,” JJ frowned. He and John B had done their best to tidy up the porch where the magnolia branch had damaged it, boarding up the broken window, but the house looked…tired. As if no-one had done any upkeep on it in years. “What, is she just sitting in the dark?”

“Well, she usually goes to bed early,” Liv said, “But…yeah. If she’s not in bed, she’ll just sit in the dark.”

“That’s…really sad,” JJ said softly, as Liv knocked on the door.

“Mrs Crain? It’s Liv - I brought JJ with me,” Liv called. Remembering she was a little old lady living on her own, half-blind and arthritic, JJ supposed he would have ignored someone knocking on his door in the dark of night. “We’ve got your groceries. Just want to make sure you’re okay.” After a few minutes, the door was unlocked, and swung open.

“Liv?”

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” Liv said, thought JJ frowned; it was barely seven o’clock. They were nearing the longest day of the year, but this was the wrong side of the island for lingering sunsets; and the house was shrouded with so many huge, old trees, he didn’t wonder no light crept through into the house.

“Oh, don’t you worry - I appreciate you going into town for me,” Mrs Crain said, her voice slightly tremulous. Stood in the half-light, she kind of reminded JJ of the Keeper of the Seeds in _Mad Max: Fury Road_. Crusty, but unexpectedly soft.

“Mrs Crain, do you have a generator?” JJ asked, as Liv took the second bag of groceries from him, slipping over the threshold.

“Michael sorted me one out a few summers ago,” Mrs Crain said, “but it’s been a while since I had to use it. I can’t quite remember how.”

“I can get it goin’ for you,” JJ offered, wondering who _Michael_ was. “You won’t have to sit in the dark.”

“Your freezer’s starting to thaw, Mrs Crain,” Liv said grimly, reappearing in the foyer, as JJ shut the front-door behind him to keep out the heat; inside, Mrs Crain’s house was even darker, but cool.

Wandering through Mrs Crain’s cluttered house at night, in the dark, was not what JJ had thought he’d be doing today - or ever. But he had his flashlight, and he grabbed the toolkit he’d found in the basement this morning, and Mrs Crain showed him where the generator was, using her cane to feel her way safely through the darkened house. No-one had maintained the generator, but JJ got it working after a while, and the electronics in the house started to hum gratefully.

“Thank you very much, Jethro,” Mrs Crain said, when he had found her in the parlour with Liv, several lamps illuminating the cluttered room. He’d thought the room with the broken window was the Music Room: but there were more pianos and musical instruments in the parlour, too. And piles and piles of books, crossword puzzles, music-books, knitting patterns.

“Uh…you’re welcome,” JJ said, shooting Liv a glare; she hid her smirk behind a _Calvin & Hobbes_ compendium. Nobody - _nobody_ \- called him Jethro. And no-one even knew his full name was Jethro Jensen. They were his maternal grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s names, and all his mom had left him with when she took off. “I should probably come by in the light to make sure everything’s okay, but it’ll be fine overnight.”

“I would appreciate that,” Mrs Crain said softly. “Olivee here tells me you do yard-work.”

She said Liv’s name like Oh-li- _vee_. JJ had never heard Liv’s name pronounced like that, but it was…kind of pretty.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’d be very grateful if you’d help me tidy up the garden,” Mrs Crain said, clasping her hands in her lap, the way Kie did when she was anxious. “The flowerbeds are…gettin’ beyond me.”

“Uh…sure,” JJ said. Usually, JJ would tell her how much he charged to mow the lawn and tidy up the beds, but…it didn’t feel _right_ to, somehow. She was a little old lady, and Liv’s friend. “I can get started whenever - um, d’you have a lawnmower?”

“Oh, I’ve got all the tools,” Mrs Crain sighed, looking said. “There was a time I’d be outside every day, tending to my flowers. But I can’t…can’t judge things too well anymore.” Liv nodded solemnly, glancing at the old lady; she sounded so _sad_.

“Okay,” JJ said quietly. “Well… I’ll come over in the morning and get started.” Mrs Crain smiled, settling into her armchair with a contented smile, and Liv asked if she needed anything before they headed home - Mrs Crain said no; she wanted them home before sunset if they were out on the water. So they said goodbye, and unconsciously, JJ reached for Liv’s hand as they wandered off the porch, headed back to the _HMS Pogue_.

“Hey,” he said gently, as they wandered down the pier. “Does she pay you to do all this stuff for her?”

“She pays me for cleaning the bathrooms and the kitchen,” Liv said, shrugging. “But she also gives me music lessons for free, so… But she’ll pay you; that’s a lot of work you’ll be doing for her.”

“I didn’t like to ask,” JJ said quietly.

“Why not?” Liv asked, her voice gentle and sweet.

“’Coz she’s your friend,” JJ said, shrugging. “I don’t know - I didn’t want her to think badly of your friend.”

“Just don’t steal anything,” Liv said, and JJ smirked.

“I won’t. Not that she’d notice - how much clutter is in that house?”

“Too much,” Liv sighed. “You should see the bedrooms. It’s actually really sad, ‘coz a lot of it’s books and things. Things she can’t actually enjoy anymore.”

“So why not get rid of them? It’d be safer, she wouldn’t trip over things,” JJ said reasonably.

“Well…because, I guess, it’s just her in that house. There’s no-one to put in the effort to go through all her things,” Liv said thoughtfully. “That’s a lot of schlepping. And she doesn’t have the strength anymore.”

“What about her family?” JJ frowned, and Liv sighed.

“Apparently…her daughter died years ago,” she said quietly. “And her husband…”

“Did she actually kill him?” JJ asked curiously.

Liv glanced at JJ. “She _did_ , but… It was an accident, but - I asked my dad once why Mrs Crain was blind in one eye, and he said…well, Dad said her husband was an evil man,” she said grimly. “When her husband died, Mrs Crain was never charged with anything, because by then, everyone knew what he’d been doing to her for years. She lost the sight in her eye, my dad said, when her husband hit her and she fell against the corner of a table.” JJ inhaled sharply, grimacing, and stifling a shudder. Liv glanced at him, squeezing his hand gently. She said quietly, “You were lucky.”

In eighth grade, he had temporarily lost the use of his right eye, half his face swelling up, because Luke had done the same thing to JJ. The corner of the table had caught JJ just beneath his eye; an inch higher, and it would have taken his eye out. But he’d been swollen for weeks, sore and bruised for longer. Mr Routledge had thought JJ might’ve fractured his cheekbone and eye-socket, but whether he had or not, JJ would never know; he’d refused to go to the hospital. It was the one time in all his life JJ had broken down, hysterical, crying, showing them all just how frightened he was, and how ashamed: He wouldn’t go to the hospital, because if he had, his dad would get into trouble - and he’d hurt JJ worse, because of the cost of the hospital bills Luke could never hope to repay if he wanted to keep up his cocaine habit. JJ’s cousin had taught him to smoke weed, to alleviate the pain; and Mr Routledge had let JJ stay at their house for close to three months. Luke had never come looking for JJ.

But JJ had known, from that moment on, who his real family was. And he knew how lucky he was to have not lost an eye during that beating.

“So…it was self-defence,” JJ said quietly, frowning, as the _Pogue_ appeared at the end of the dock, and JJ felt something ease in the pit of his stomach at the sight of John B yawning in the sunset. He’d half-expected the boat to be gone, John B chasing after Scooter Grubbs for answers about his dad.

“It was,” Liv said quietly. “It was an accident that he died, but Mrs Crain still blames herself for it. And then people started telling stories…turned her into an axe-murderess. ‘Coz a woman definitely has to be evil to kill her husband, right?” JJ scoffed, shaking his head.

JJ frowned, licking his lips, and focused on the feel of Liv’s fingers intertwined with his as they wandered back to the boat. Except for the huge house and money, JJ…knew what Mrs Crain had gone through. How bad had it been, how frightened was she, just how terrified for her own life had she been, to finally fight back? How much strength had it taken her, to stand up to the man abusing her? And how had it gone so terribly wrong?

He felt awful, now, for believing the stories about Mrs Crain being a crazy, vicious axe-murderess, after what Liv had just told him. Because he knew… He knew how it felt. To live in the grips of that terror, feeling like there was no escape…that it was his fault. And then to have people say horrible things about you - blaming Mrs Crain for the abuse she had endured at her husband’s hands… He guessed he wasn’t surprised, now, that Mrs Crain didn’t leave her house. To blame herself was one thing, but to have the entire island making up stories about who they thought she was, nobody knowing the truth about what she had survived…

They reached the _Pogue_ , and JJ steadied Liv as she climbed in; he untied the line, and hopped in as John B steered them away from the shore. In the dying sunshine, JJ sighed, watching Liv at the bow, the wind playing with loose curls, making her glow.

It really had been a weird day. And it wasn’t even over yet.

The Château didn’t look half as a grim in the sunset. Yeah, the tree was still down, but they’d get to moving it, and as for the boats out front, well, they’d saved the porch from the worst of the storm, and anyway, JJ had been trying to convince John B to sell them for parts at the salvage yard. The insects were singing loudly, the chickens clucking occasionally, nestled in their henhouse for the night, and bats had started to swoop overhead by the time JJ and John B had the fire-pit blazing. Liv sat in the kitchen with candles and camping lamps and a pencil and notepaper, listing everything they had in the freezer, and what they could cook it with over the fire over the next few days, preserving leftovers in the icebox.

The thing about the Château was, it was the kind of place they could walk around barefoot and half-naked most of the time, and never worry. Not like JJ’s house. He had always loved the Château, which felt more like a home even without Big John to make it one; because the things that made it home for JJ were John B and especially Liv, who exuded warmth and sweetness, and did her utmost to keep the house clean and tidy, so they could wander around barefoot, relaxed, and well-fed. JJ had noticed that she was always _accommodating_ : There was always somewhere for him and the other Pogues to sleep, whether it was the fold-out sofa or the hammocks outside, and there was usually something to eat, whether it was scrambled eggs and bacon or pancakes. And even in a power-outage, there was still stuff to do - Big John hadn’t been a fan of the television; he liked books, jigsaws, board-games, sports, fishing, surfing - shoving them outside with $5 and their bikes when they were little, and then the _HMS Pogue_ and whatever money they had accumulated to buy bait and spend the day fishing.

JJ had learned more about being a man from Big John than from his own father. He had learned more about what _family_ meant because of the Routledges. And he knew Big John had been a good father, regardless how angry and frustrated John B got with him, because John B and Liv were hard-working, thoughtful, kind, conscientious people - they were the best people JJ knew.

That was why it had surprised him when Liv tucked all that cash into her backpack. _He_ would do something like that, because he wasn’t an idiot, and knew his opportunities were severely limited to the ones he made for himself. And that amount of money would make a lot of opportunities.

He sighed, and padded through the shadowy house to Liv, who was sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, frowning in the lamplight and combing through her list.

“What’ve you got?” he asked, going to the sink to wash his hands under the faucet. He and John B had been cleaning the fish for their supper, preparing the fire-pit, the same way Big John had taught them since they were little kids.

Liv sighed heavily. “Menu, for the next few weeks. Luckily there wasn’t much in the freezer to begin with, to go to waste.”

“We’re gonna be cooking over the fire-pit all summer, huh?” JJ smiled; he actually enjoyed it, and he took the menu list from Liv. She hadn’t just written down what they were going to eat: She’d listed every ingredient for the meal - because sometimes she’d be working when the boys were left to fend for themselves. And it was sweet that she did that, even though they all knew that, in all likelihood, left to their own devices he and John B would coax Kie into giving them free food at _The Wreck_ , or literally eat plain fried fish over the fire-pit. Was there anything that tasted better? But Liv - she’d learned to cook from working at the diner, from babysitting, from Kie’s dad at _The Wreck_ , and from her own dad, who’d had a healthy appetite and loved to cook. Every summer they had developed new recipes to cook over the fire-pit, when it was too hot to cook inside, and the power was out anyway.

“Looks like,” Liv said, sighing.

“Steak sandwich; marinated pork loin with spicy slaw and potatoes; linguine with sausage and peppers; steak tacos with peppers and Mexican corn-on-the-cob; shrimp boil; all-day breakfast burritos; shrimp quesadillas; taco-salad; shrimp and grits; biscuits and sausage gravy in the Dutch-oven,” he sighed, smiling. “My speciality.”

“You’re gonna be cooking those,” Liv smiled at him. JJ shrugged, grinning; he was good at cooking a handful of things - biscuits and gravy was his signature dish.

“Oh, really?” he asked, teasing.

“Yours are the best,” Liv smiled, gazing at him, and JJ grinned, pleased. “You got the fire ready?”

“Yup,” JJ smiled, and Liv clambered off the floor.

“Alright, help me? We’re having fish tacos,” Liv said, and JJ grinned. Tacos of any kind were Liv’s favourite, and though they couldn’t do them the same here as at the Mexican street-food shack on the beach, they did pretty well, dredging the fish lightly in flour, instead of batter, before frying for a few minutes in a little oil, drizzling homemade chipotle mayo over the top with sweet and spicy slaw, pickled cucumber and three drops of Liv’s famous homemade passion-fruit hot-sauce. Three drops of the hot-sauce was JJ’s tolerance!

“I wish it could always be like this,” JJ sighed, resting his head back, swinging gently in the hammock as Liv passed him a plate refilled with two more tacos, taking a swig of his beer before handing him a fresh one. He gave her an appreciative smile, and Liv smiled back, nodding her agreement. She didn’t want to burst the bubble, spoil the evening…but there was no point prolonging the inevitable.

As Liv had organised the meal, and done the majority of the cooking, including making all the homemade condiments, the deal was that the boys cleaned up: With no power, meaning no hot-water, they had to heat water over the fire, and when they were finished, used the dirtied dishwater to douse the fire. Before they even clambered inside, already slightly tipsy, JJ had stacked firewood and kindling to start the fire for the next time. They had started to leave the blinds drawn in early May, to keep the cost of the electricity down by turning the A.C. on only for a couple hours before they went to bed, to cool their bedrooms down; with the power out, now, they kept all the blinds and curtains drawn, to keep out the heat, and Liv was loathe to light any candles inside because of the heat they gave off. While the boys did the dishes outside, she sat in the porch, with a couple camping lamps on, and unzipped her backpack.

Did she feel guilty for stealing the money?

Absolutely. It was the most shameful thing she had ever done.

Would the feeling last?

No. Because it was all they had.

They were sixteen years old, orphaned - her mother had left when they were three, and last they’d heard from her was two years ago, living in New Mexico. Or Colorado. Maybe it had been Idaho? - and because of _the law_ they were prevented from working full-time, at least in a job that didn’t pay cash under the table. _And_ on top of that, they had two more years at school…

JJ always said the only opportunities he had were the ones he’d be able to make for himself. Since their dad’s disappearance, Liv had come to realise the wisdom in those words. They, and they alone, were now utterly responsible for their successes or failures in life: There would be no doors opened to them that they didn’t knock on first. They had to seek out opportunities, and where doors were closed, they had to jimmy open a window or pick the lock.

Liv had hoped to qualify as a swimming/surf instructor, or get a degree in Spanish at the community college, and go travelling, surfing the world while waitressing to pay for her accommodation in youth hostels: John had thought about qualifying as a sailing instructor - he wasn’t just good with motor-boats but with genuine sailing-boats too, thanks to their dad - and, before everything, John B had wanted to go to college and major in Marine Biology, something their dad had encouraged, because John had great grades and a strong application.

JJ, well…he had always been realistic about his chances. The best he could hope for was a steady income, however meagre, and literally keeping his nose clean as the desperation and grinding poverty crushed his soul. But if Liv asked him, if money was no consideration, she knew he’d enter surf competitions that took him around the world, to all the best surf-spots - it wouldn’t matter to him if he didn’t win. He just wanted to surf - but Liv knew he had it in him to make professional surfing his career, if only he’d had the support. He’d probably end up a mechanic, something he was very good at, or as a waiter in the fancy hotel where he was already employed as a busboy, but as soon as he turned eighteen, Liv wanted him to move permanently into the Château. Liv would never forget those three months when JJ had lived with them, during eighth grade, when his entire face had been swollen and bruised for weeks, and he’d cried into her shoulder every night for weeks after that, because his dad hadn’t come for him, hadn’t even _cared_. Even though Luke hurt JJ, JJ still loved his dad. One day, Liv was afraid Luke would kill his son - or JJ would end up killing his dad in self-defence. As soon as he was legally allowed, Liv wanted him to come live with them, get him away from Luke. It was one of the only bright spots in the persistent misery and confusion surrounding her dad’s disappearance: He’d left the Château to her and John B equally between them, and it was now their privilege to offer JJ permanent houseroom.

She counted the money, each pile of bills opening up their futures further.

There was the sound of footsteps on the porch-steps, the screen-door clattered, and JJ’s blonde hair glinted in the lamplight picking out John B’s cheekbones and pretty lips, which were parted in shock and confusion, his eyes glinting in the light as he stared at the coffee-table. “What the fuck?”

Liv sighed softly. “The photographs weren’t the only thing in the safe,” she said, with a delicate wince.

“You _stole_ -?!”

“How much is there?” JJ asked excitedly, clambering onto the battered old sofa to sit beside her, his face lighting up eagerly as he glanced at the money.

“ _What the fuck_ , Liv?!” John B blurted, shoving his hands through his hair, gripping his head. “You _stole_ -“

“I stole seventy-five thousand dollars from Scooter Grubbs’ hotel-room,” Liv said grimly, and JJ let out a little squeak, his hands clasped over his mouth, eyes flying wide.

“Seventy-five - “

“You stole… _Liv_ ,” John B stared at her, as if he didn’t recognise her. “You stole this from Scooter Grubbs?”

“Yes,” Liv gulped.

“Why - I thought JJ would be the one to do something epically stupid - not _you_!” John B said, his voice rising. “Why the fuck would you steal that money?”

“This is our lifeline, John!” Liv exclaimed calmly. “This is - this is _Dad_ , throwing us a life-raft.”

“What?!” John B blurted, gaping at her, and he started to laugh, shaking his head. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m not. I’m _not_!” Liv protested. “John, we’ve been scraping by ever since Dad disappeared. Say what you want, but… If there’s any kind of - of cosmic _justice_ in the world, then Dad’s compass showed up to point us to this money. This is how we find our feet - this is how we get through _school_ , John. Without having to kill ourselves - without having to go into foster-care.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” John B muttered, shaking his head. “This is _stolen_ money -“

“It’s _kook_ money,” Liv interrupted sharply, suddenly angry - she was ashamed to have stolen it, yes, but she believed in everything she had said; this was how they survived. And their survival meant more to her than her pride, her…sense of decency, her _morals_. At least with regards to this. “It’s money some _kook_ gave to Scooter Grubbs, with _Dad’s_ research, to find the _Merchant_. I feel pretty good stealing this money if that’s how Scooter came about it.”

“You can’t prove Scooter had anything to do with Dad disappearing.”

“I don’t have to. I don’t _want_ to,” Liv said, with quiet fierceness. “All I want, right now, is for us to get through the next couple years without going to foster-care. Without having to leave our _home_. This…this is enough money to pay our bills for years, to - to pay for community college, if you still wanted to go. JJ could enter surf competitions.”

“Me?” JJ blinked at her.

“Of course, _you_. This is your money, too,” Liv said gently, glancing at JJ. “This is our future. Ours. The three of us, at the Château. Doing what we always wished we could do.”

“It’s seventy-five thousand dollars, Liv - _in stolen cash_ ,” John B enunciated, running his fingers through his hair again in frustration - he looked _rattled_. “You stole - “

“You don’t have to keep repeating yourself, I _know_ , John B; I _know_ that it’s stolen, and… If you don’t think I feel badly for taking it… I do. I just also know that this is the only chance we have of staying together,” Liv said quietly.

“Is that why you didn’t show me this when Kie and Pope were around?” John B asked, his voice stern and accusing. Liv sighed softly, and JJ watched her carefully.

“I… We all know their lives are going to be very different,” Liv said quietly. There was no jealousy in her voice, only sadness: Jealous was never a word JJ would ever associate with Liv. “A couple more years, they’ll go off to college and…we’ll be left behind. And they don’t understand our lives, y’know? How could they?” She sniffed, her eyes burning. As much as she loved Pope and Kiara, they had no hope of understanding their dire predicament. Yes, they spent their good days smoking weed and fishing, partying at the Château - but DCS _was_ circling, and they _did_ have to work to be able to afford their utilities, to keep paying the mortgage, and pretty soon the school would wash their hands of John B, playing truant so often. Without a diploma or a G.E.D. what hope did he have? And none of them had parents they could turn to, who supported them, who had their best interests at heart, who wanted the best for them. Neither Pope nor Kiara could understand what their lives were truly like; and they had no idea how brutal Luke’s abuse of JJ was, to know that even when he was present, having Luke around was far worse than Liv and John B being orphaned. “Pope wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret where he got the cash; and Kiara would likely tell us to donate the money to a charity - as if…as if we can _afford_ to give it away. As if this isn’t all we have. This money, and the Château, and each other. You’ve not been doing a damn thing to help yourself, John B; and I won’t apologise for doing what I have to so we can survive.”

“You think I’ve been sitting on my ass - ?!“

“I think you’re living in a fantasy-land. DCS is doing its utmost to _take you away_!” Liv exclaimed, and JJ heard real fear in her voice, even if John B chose to ignore it - he would rather cling to the idea of their dad being alive, than face the consequences of being separated from his sister, from JJ, from Outer Banks.

John B stared at her. Then he shook his head, throwing his hands up. “I’m not talking about this anymore.”

“Well, when?” Liv asked, her voice tight, and JJ could feel the tension starting to crackle.

“Later!” John B exclaimed.

“C’mon, dude?!” JJ protested. Because this affected him, too.

“That’s your solution to everything, isn’t it, John?!” Liv said, sitting up straight, glaring at her brother, and JJ noticed her eyes were sparkling with tears, and her voice shook. “ _Walk away_?”

“Yeah, that’s my solution,” John B quipped, punting the front-door open, disappearing into the house. Liv’s lip trembled as she deflated on the sofa, and JJ sighed heavily, reaching out, and squeezed Liv’s shoulder comfortingly. Much as he knew John B needed to have settled this with Liv before they let it fester, JJ was also keen to avoid another one of their rare, horrible fights.

After a few minutes, the sound of the insects louder as the night closed in, JJ sighed, and Liv turned to him, her expression…guilt-ridden, and deeply upset. Her voice was tremulous when she asked, “Am I wrong?”

JJ shook his head. “No, you’re not wrong. And…you’re right to keep it from Pope and Kiara, alright, they…they wouldn’t get it. How could they? I mean…you didn’t used to, not really. Now you know.”

“Now I know,” Liv murmured heavily, her eyes lowered to the cash in neat piles on the coffee-table. She brought her knees up, hugging them to her chest, and JJ sighed, because her eyes were swimming with tears, and she looked like she was trying her utmost not to fall apart. He knew how hard she had been trying to keep it together - keep _them_ together - the last nine months, and…John B walking away from any serious conversation didn’t help. “This…this isn’t what I thought our lives would be.”

“I know,” JJ said quietly, holding his arm open to her; because Liv suddenly looked _small_ , and he knew what that meant. It meant she _felt_ small, and fragile, and overwhelmed - and her brother refused to talk about it, to even acknowledge the dire predicaments they were in, how badly their lives had been thrown off the rails when Big John disappeared. To everyone else, Liv seemed like she was holding it together - a swan, graceful and calm up top, but beneath, paddling like mad to stay afloat - but…she was struggling. And JJ knew it.

“Why won’t he _talk_ to me?” Liv whispered tremulously against his chest, as JJ hugged her. He loved when they just cuddled together like this, and he hugged his arms around her tighter, sighing. He could smell the saltwater in her hair, and her conditioner, which always smelled pretty - clean and flowery.

“’Coz it’s all he has left,” JJ said quietly, leaning his chin on top of her head. “He can’t give that up.”

“They’re going to _take him away_ ,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice trembling, and JJ hugged her tighter, because he knew it. There had been a year, before he had met John B and Liv, when he had endured the foster-system on the mainland - his dad had literally given him up to DCS so he could smuggle drugs. A whole year, when he was six years old - just after his mom had left for good. He still remembered it - five families in a year - and even now, he couldn’t decide whether the dread of being thrown back into foster-care was worse than heading home to find Luke high, agitated and violent. At least with Luke, he knew where he stood. It was different, though, now that he had John B and Liv, and the Château. It was…special. Liv knew it: She was fighting for it. She was fighting for their family.

“That’s not gonna happen,” JJ said, but even to him, his voice sounded defeated.

He wondered briefly if he could’ve done more, earlier on, to help Liv convince John B to pursue emancipation - like Liv was - to stop DCS in its tracks. Now they were facing down the barrel of John B’s exile from Outer Banks, and there was nothing any of them could do to stop it.

“Are you lying to me to make me feel better?” Liv asked softly.

“Definitely,” JJ said, and Liv glanced up, smiling sadly.

“Alright…lie to me.”

“’Kay. John B’s not goin’ anywhere. We’ll all graduate from high-school with fat scholarships to the colleges of our choice. John B’s gonna study sharks; and you’re gonna study Languages, and travel the world, before buying up land in Brazil with a tonne of animals and crops -“

“Next to Lenny Kravits’ compound?”

“Yeah,” JJ grinned, relaxed. “I’m gonna surf every day, or study Architecture. And one day when I visit you, your neighbour Lenny Kravits is gonna introduce me to Lisa Bonet.”

“Is she gonna leave Jason Momoa for you?”

“In a heartbeat,” JJ groaned; he _loved_ Lisa Bonet. “That’ll free up Momoa for you.”

“You’re always thinking of me,” Liv grinned. JJ winked.

“I live to please,” JJ sighed. “It’s all gonna be amicable, though; we’re all gonna be friends and hang out. We’ll go surfing together, and play music, and we’ll tour, and Jason Momoa will ask me to be in an independent surf film after I’ve racked up a tonne of surf competition wins.”

Liv sighed heavily, resting her head against his chest. She reached out to fiddle with one of the bracelets circling his wrist. “Sounds good to me,” she said softly. Eventually, she broke away from him, and JJ helped tuck the cash into her backpack; they would figure out what to do with it later. For right now, John B was strumming his electric guitar in the living-room, in the dark, sipping a beer, and Liv traipsed through the dark house to her bedroom. With her early shifts, she rarely ever saw nine o’clock at night. JJ yawned, throwing himself onto the sofa.

John B plucked at the strings of his guitar, the sound tinny without his amp. JJ sighed, set the lamp down on the table, and reached for the acoustic Big John had give him for his sixteenth birthday - the only birthday-present JJ had ever had from an adult, father-figure. He lit up, and relaxed, plucking at the strings, glancing at John B.

“Thought you were the one who does dumb shit and steals stuff,” John B muttered.

“Dude…” JJ sighed, shaking his head. “You know she’s _scared_ , don’t you?”


	6. Surfing Magnolias

**Golden Pogues**

_05_

_Surfing Magnolias_

* * *

She was deliciously surprised to see JJ. Not just because he was shirtless, _glistening_ , his lean muscles flexing, as he mowed the lawn. But because it was Mrs Crain’s lawn he was mowing. They had talked about him doing yard-work for her, but Liv hadn’t expected to see JJ today. Not this early; he and John B tended to sleep in ‘til past noon if John B wasn’t working.

It was a treat for her, JJ being there, as much as it was a treat for Mrs Crain that Liv had brought the Rogers children over for a visit. She’d cleared the idea with Anna-Lynne Rogers, probably one of Liv’s favourite people in the world, who’d thought it a wonderful idea to take the kids to see Mrs Crain; Liv had spent the morning with the three Rogers children, creating a picnic to bring with them as a surprise for Mrs Crain.

Whenever she babysat the children for the entire day, she had to think of creative ways to keep them entertained - she refused to resort to the television or _YouTube_. When she babysat, she liked to make it a treat for the children, that they were spending time with her. It meant she enjoyed it, too. So, they had spent the morning in Mrs Rogers’ glorious air-conditioned kitchen, with Liv teaching Nathaniel and Steven how to cook, little Emilia her dedicated sous-chef, all in aprons and tall chef hats made out of paper.

Liv felt it important to share the fun with Mrs Rogers, so she always took photographs on her phone. The _iPhone_ 4S was ancient, but it had never failed her yet. And it captured some wonderful moments. The Rogers kids were some of her favourites in the world. They set the example for what amazing little humans children could be: They were generous, kind-hearted, compassionate and gentle with each other, warm and playful. They liked to play together, and eight-year-old Nathaniel always went out of his way to include four-year-old Emilia in their games. It was a privilege to look after them: Over the last nine months, Liv’s time babysitting them was sometimes the best part of her week. They always had a smile for her, and sometimes…sometimes just teaching Nathaniel how to bake cupcakes because he wanted to surprise Emilia during one of her beloved tea-parties made all the bad things fade away.

Without effort, children lived in the moment; sometimes, Liv needed their help to do the same.

Whenever she was with them, she felt happy. She felt safe, calm. She only ever usually felt like that, now, with JJ.

Today they were ecstatic: They had ridden their bikes all the way from their house to Mrs Crain’s, kitted out in helmets and water-bottles and slathered in sunscreen, giddy with the idea of surprising Mrs Crain with a picnic they had made.

Nathaniel led the way on the sidewalk, indicating he was going to turn by sticking his arm out, and Liv glanced around to ensure there were no cars around, speeding up to block the road so the kids could cross safely; Steven followed suit, and Liv chuckled as she watched tiny Emilia, her tongue sticking out in determination, her little face flushed red with exertion, pedalling her silver-and-purple tricycle like mad, bringing up the rear, trying to keep up with Steven. Liv was glad of the ancient trees overhanging the road as they turned into Mrs Crain’s cul-de-sac - at which she lived at the far end of, down a narrow, overgrown lane.

She followed the kids past an ancient, tumbledown wall and turned left, onto a cracked driveway overgrown with weeds, dappled with sunshine from overgrown trees, the sound of the mower roaring away as the children stopped, climbing off their bikes, little Steven nearly toppling over as he attempted to kick the stand in place.

And there he was. _JJ_. Shirtless, his blonde hair glowing like a halo in the sunshine, sticking up at odd angles where he’d shoved his hands through it, his faded shorts sliding to that perfect place on his hips that showed his faintly chiselled hipbones… Thinking about those hipbones made her squirm, made her want to do things she shouldn’t want to do to her oldest friend. Those hipbones, and his leanly muscled arms, already burnished bronze from the North Carolina sunshine - from so many afternoons spent in the surf when he and John B should have been in class. He looked sweaty and breathless as he noticed them, and his face lit up in a bright smile as he realised who it was; Liv stared, and remembered to breathe. Because when he _smiled_ at her like that…

“What’re you doing here?” she asked, smiling, and JJ cut the mower engine, silence falling to the insects chirping and singing around them.

“Thought I’d get a head-start before it gets too hot,” JJ said, gesturing over his shoulder. “Don’t wanna have to be doing all the really labour-intensive stuff during the worst of the summer heat.”

“You’re pinkin’ up some,” Liv warned, wincing slightly, adjusting her sunglasses to see over the top of them, checking JJ’s richly tanned skin. “Do you have sunscreen on?”

“You know, John B is just really shy about putting his hands on me,” JJ said, smirking and shrugging. “I guess he’s, you know, trying to keep all that passion from bubbling over. The temptation, you know?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Liv smiled, chuckling softly. “We did make up the ‘no-macking’ rule because of the tension building between you two.”

“Finally, _one_ Routledge acknowledges it!” JJ grinned, and Liv laughed softly. JJ scanned the children, Nathaniel helping unbuckle Emilia’s helmet.

“Kids, say hello to JJ,” Liv said. “This is Nathaniel, Steven and Emilia.”

“Hi,” JJ said, wiping his hands on the bandana dangling from his belt-loop. He glanced at Liv. “What, I don’t get a hug?”

“No; you’re all sweaty and gross.” And _delicious_.

“Gross? No, this is _sexy_!”

“No, it’s really not.” It _so_ was. JJ laughed richly, as Liv dodged his attempts to cuddle her.

“What’re you guys doing here?” JJ asked, and Liv noticed he was still panting slightly from working so hard. She could already see he had made huge progress just by mowing the lawn.

“We brought a picnic,” Liv said, and the children nodded eagerly.

“We cooked!” Nathaniel grinned.

“And Emilia made a Frankenstein pizza. A Frankenpizza, as it were,” Liv said, and smiled at JJ’s grin: He was a big fan of _The Try Guys_ but also of Safiya Nygaard’s ‘Bad Science’ videos, and he appreciated a Frankenstein creation. Especially when it was edible.

“You want me to eat it, right?” JJ murmured to her, as the kids crowded the porch steps, and Liv nodded, grinning.

“Oh, definitely. After we get a picture of Em’s face when she takes a bite,” Liv said. “Although…she’s such a little wierdo she’ll probably like it. Where’s Mrs Crain?”

“She’s inside,” JJ said, nodding back toward the porch. “You know, she gets up almost as early as _you_.”

“Alright, come on, let’s go say hello to Mrs Crain,” Liv said. “ _You_ need to put sunscreen on.”

“I’ll just sweat it off.”

Liv plucked the bottle from the basket on her bicycle, raising an eyebrow at JJ. “See, right here; ‘sweat-proof’.”

“Alright, fine… I’ll let you put on my sunscreen - but no _roaming_ ,” JJ said, wiggling a finger at her, his expression sombre and teasing.

“I will keep my wandering hands to myself,” Liv vowed, her lips twitching, and JJ smiled softly as she wandered toward the porch, pausing only to unknot the billowing orange peasant-skirt she had worn - _Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again_ had had a profound impact on her wardrobe - so it whispered at her ankles. She knocked on the front-door, the children grinning and thrumming with anticipation.

While JJ finished up mowing the lawn, Liv ushered the children inside when Mrs Crain answered, delighted to find them on her doorstep: And she was happier still to try the picnic the children had spent so much time and effort making for her as a surprise. They spread a blanket out under one of the magnolias, in the shade, and JJ carried over a rattan armchair for Mrs Crain to sit in, while Liv spread out the picnic and send Nathaniel and Steven to go fill a bucket with cold water from the hose…to throw over JJ.

He played along, as the boys approached, grinning and giggling - standing a few feet away so the water wouldn’t splash anyone else, and Liv watched raptly, and felt JJ’s groan as the boys doused him with cold water. He whipped his head to fling his hair out of his eyes like some kind of male _Herbal Essences_ advert, the water shimmering on his bronzed skin, and Liv stifled a moan, jealous of _water_ for the first time in her life as it trickled over his body. That wasn’t _fair_.

She fumbled for the sunscreen bottle, as JJ threw himself onto the grass - courteously not on the blanket, to prevent it getting wet - and grinned lazily at her as the children chatted away happily with Mrs Crain, who looked suitably impressed by the picnic and dutifully asked the children to tell her exactly how they had made everything.

“Where’s John B?” Liv asked, uncapping the sunscreen bottle, and JJ presented his back to her so she could rub in the sunscreen.

“Still in bed, when I left the Château,” JJ shrugged. “Figured, he’s workin’ today anyway. Might as well get started on the yard.”

“And they say you have no get-up-and-go,” Liv clicked her tongue, and JJ nodded; he’d heard that all too often. “There you go; finish up. You want some of everything?” JJ nodded, scanning the food.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting this,” Mrs Crain said, her smile soft, as Nathaniel, as the eldest, filled a plate for her, handing it to her with great ceremony. “Thank you very much, Nathaniel.”

“Are you surprised?” Steven asked, his brown eyes wide.

“I am!” Mrs Crain assured him, smiling. “I’m very surprised _and_ impressed you made all this food.”

They had made a spicy Thai noodle salad; refreshing melon skewers with the prosciutto and mozzarella pearls; epic veggie rainbow sandwiches, using every vegetable in the refrigerator, Steven’s idea (he was a big fan of Liv’s vegan fried-green tomato sandwiches); Liv’s special Mexican street sweetcorn on the cob; S’mores in pots, and a fresh fruit salad. They made also pizzas from scratch. Liv had had Emilia mixing the dough, working on her motor-reflexes, and the boys had taken turns kneading, which was a total con on Liv’s part, because they could’ve used Mrs Rogers’ _KitchenAid_. Then they rolled out the raised dough, and each of them had a pizza to build the way they wanted with the contents of the refrigerator and the pantry. Now, they shared their food, with a jug of Mrs Crain’s most refreshing watermelon-lemonade (which could only have been made better, JJ pointed out in an undertone to Liv, with the addition of copious amounts of tequila), and listened to the insects chirping and the birds singing in the aftermath of the storm, the children watching with baited breath as Liv handed JJ a generous slice of Emilia’s Frankenpizza.

“So Emilia made this with all of her _favourite_ things,” Liv said, as Emilia nodded and smiled, dimpling; she had moved to sit beside JJ, gazing adoringly at him, holding her breath as JJ examined the pizza slice.

“Huh… So… So there’s spinach, and orange peppers, and _chorizo_ , mini-marshmallows, strawberries, black olives, and jalapenos, _Fruit Gushers_ , beets and…feta cheese,” JJ said, examining the slice. “What’s the green stuff on the base, instead of tomato?”

“That’s pesto.”

“And the - is that…it’s grape jelly,” JJ said, eyeing the pizza dubiously. “Oh, that must be some peanut-butter. Right?” He glanced at Emilia, who nodded fervently, her dark curls bouncing, sucking her thumb. “Okay, well…nothin’s killed me yet.”

Because he was a masochist, he took a _big_ bite.

“Huh,” he said, after a few chews, swallowing. He licked his lips. The children waited. “Every bite’s a flavour surprise. Like the best Asian cooking - you’ve got your salty, sweet, your spicy and your sour. All in one bite. Lots of, um…different textures goin’ on here. Thank you, Emilia. I’ve never eaten _anything_ like it.” Mrs Crain chuckled warmly in her chair, resting in the shade, watching them. Liv grinned behind her phone, using the camera function to snap more pictures of them all. Especially Emilia’s face when she tried a bite of her Frankenpizza. JJ had a napkin at the ready, as Emilia’s little face contorted. When JJ had consumed the last of the leftovers (all except the Frankenpizza, which was wrapped up “for Daddy to try later”) Liv tidied up, and had the kids sit inside to settle their stomachs and wait out the hottest part of the day, reading old _Calvin & Hobbes_ compendiums, with Steven sitting at the piano having an impromptu music lesson with Mrs Crain, while Nathaniel watched JJ outside.

“Once your lunch settles, you can go outside and help,” Liv suggested.

“Mrs Crain’s yard isn’t like ours,” Nathaniel remarked.

“No; all the trees are a lot older,” Liv said, though she knew that wasn’t what Nathaniel had meant: Their parents had a lot of staff to keep their home pristine. Michael Rogers was a very powerful attorney and lectured at Chapel Hill, and Ivy League schools: Anna-Lynne was the prettiest woman Liv had ever known - inside and out - and was a sought-after interior designer who seemed to handle everything with unflappable grace. Liv admired her _a lot_ , and had learned a lot from her.

“No; that’s not it,” Nathaniel sighed. “There’s flowers everywhere. Mom loves flowers. This is what she wanted when she told Daddy she’d love a flower-garden.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Liv chuckled softly. Mrs Rogers’ favourite childhood books included _The Secret Garden_ , and she daydreamed of having her own Victorian walled rose-garden.

“You know, JJ asked me about the magnolia blossoms,” Mrs Crain said softly, and Nathaniel turned to her, sitting properly on the settee with his _Garfield_ compendium. “You’re welcome to propagate some cuttings from the fallen branch, if you’d like, Olivee.”

“Really?” Liv asked excitedly. She loved being outdoors, tending to her plants and the chickens, her girls - her dependants. They listened to her as much as John B did, but at least she got things off her chest talking to them. Almost everything she had growing at the Château had started in Mrs Crain’s garden. The begonias, the French lavenders, the seven gorgeous different varieties of peonies, pentstemons, her unusual _Digitalis_ ‘Firebird’, her dahlias and even the rhubarb that flourished by the porch steps. Mrs Crain had taught her how to garden. How to be patient, to embrace the inner Samwise Gamgee in her, to have something to look forward to… She was growing zucchinis, squashes, eggplants, tomatoes, peppers, chillies, potatoes and corn this year because of Mrs Crain’s guidance. She was exploring all things _permaculture_ \- or _was_ , until the power went out, and the internet along with it. “Thank you! I - I don’t know _how_ , though.”

What had started out as a picnic became the children’s first lesson in gardening - and their very first yard-work chores. JJ, in a very _Tom Sawyer_ -esque move, conned the little ones into helping pull weeds as he started to case the flowerbeds for all the jobs he needed to get done to bring Mrs Crain’s gardens back to their former glory: And Mrs Crain taught Liv and an interested Nathaniel how to propagate magnolia cuttings from the fallen branch. And Mrs Crain told stories, about the magnolia trees she had planted, and her sun-drenched memories of old Outer Banks, everything she used to see walking the beaches of Kildare Island - the birds and fish, turtles and flowers, dolphins and rays - that people no longer could because of overfishing, global warming and endangered species. Talking about animals snared Nathaniel’s heart, and they had a long chat, sipping lemonade and listening to Liv playing Steven some songs on the piano, about sea-animals and Nathaniel’s favourite _National Geographic_ shows on animals, and Sir David Attenborough, a hero to him. Nathaniel was dead set on travelling the world to witness the world’s most endangered species in their natural habitats - and protecting those habitats and the animals they sheltered.

“JJ! Put a shirt on! You’re burning!” Liv called from the porch. Steven and Emilia were napping in the parlour under afghan blankets, and it Nathaniel was having a guitar lesson with Mrs Crain.

“’A hunk, a hunk o’ burnin’ love’,” JJ cooed back, posing like Elvis with his rake, in lieu of a guitar. Liv didn’t want to say it was entirely her fault, but perhaps her love of _Lilo & Stitch_ had had more of an effect on JJ than any of them had realised; he was very talented with the acoustic guitar, and he loved to make them laugh by singing (he had a _very_ good voice) and doing Elvis impersonations.

“Oh, dear,” Liv sighed, her lips twitching. “Well, I can fry up a peanut-butter, banana and bacon sandwich on your back if you don’t put your shirt on.”

“Put some more sunscreen on me?” JJ asked, pausing to drain his water-bottle, panting with exertion, and, because she secretly enjoyed it, she did.

“You know, you’ve made a little buddy in Emilia for eating the Frankenpizza,” she said softly. “And the boys are super-impressed with you.”

“Yeah… I’m not sure how I’m gonna punish you for that one,” JJ said thoughtfully. Liv laughed softly, noticing how his back muscles flexed as she rubbed sunscreen into his lower-back, her fingertips brushing beneath the band of his shorts. “Figure it’ll be a really, really _sweaty_ hug. You won’t see it coming. Just warning you now.”

“Alright, I accept that,” Liv smiled good-naturedly. “Just don’t get me before I have to go to work, please.”

“Deal,” JJ said softly. He respected how hard she worked, never coaxing her to stay up late, even when John B and Pope and Kiara did, ribbing her for going to bed so early - even when they had house-parties at the Château. “Never thought I’d say it, but these kook kids are kinda cute. They’re like… _polite_.”

“They are. They’re the difference between money and _class_ ,” Liv said softly, because she knew a lot of kooks who flung their money around acting like the trash they believed Liv and her friends were, but she also knew kooks who belonged to an old world, who were _elegant_. The Rogers fit into the latter category. “Their parents are really wonderful; they’re raising their children well.”

“Wonder what that’s like,” JJ said grimly, and Liv pulled a face, sighing heavily. She remembered to get his neck, and his ears, and when a yawning Emilia appeared, looking rumpled and sweet and tired, Liv glanced at JJ, knowing today’s treat was almost over for her: She had to get the children home, get them cleaned up, fed and ready for bed. They had a routine, and Liv knew it well; even days with a babysitter didn’t mean they broke from their night-time routine.

And today, because they had been out on their bicycles, cooked with her, read some comics and had impromptu music lessons, helped JJ do some yard-work, Liv knew they would appreciate the treat of watching a movie.

“Hey…when will you be home?” JJ asked.

“Um… Mrs Rogers will be home at six,” Liv said, checking her watch. “I’ll probably come straight home. I have the whole day off tomorrow, so I’m going _surfing_.”

“All day?” JJ asked, his face lighting up, and Liv nodded. “I mean… I said I’d come do some tidying up here, but…”

“Well…come join me when you can,” Liv said. She had every intention of spending all day out in the water. She hadn’t had a full day off for weeks. The others had all embraced summer as soon as the final bell rang, dismissing them from their sophomore year of high-school: Liv had committed to more shifts, more babysitting, more… _work_. She had had tomorrow marked on her calendar for weeks, counting down to her surf-day.

“Oh, hey… We need to hide the cash,” JJ reminded her in an undertone.

“ _Definitely_ ,” Liv agreed. She had already started squirrelling wads of cash away, in places not even JJ would venture. But there was a lot of it - and JJ had already told her he didn’t trust Luke not to snort all that money up his nose if he found it hidden in JJ’s room. Liv didn’t put it past Luke to beat JJ senseless for it. So the Château was the chosen hiding-spot for the money, and Liv was planning to make a few weekly deposits to her bank account - she always made one weekly deposit of all her babysitting money and most of her tips from the diner, so it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, and at least she could squirrel some of it away safely. She’d never be able to make a huge deposit of thousands of dollars, even if the bank was used to kook withdrawals of the same value, and she wasn’t yet old enough, even though she was in pursuit of emancipation, to open a safe-deposit box at the bank. She’d asked.

“And…we were thinking - well, Kiara was thinking, and we agreed… What about a kegger?” JJ grinned.

“Tonight?”

“Tomorrow night,” JJ said, smiling.

“At the Château?”

“The Boneyard,” JJ grinned, glancing at her: Liv had blown up the last time the boys had thrown a keg-party at the house, because of the damage and the mess created by their ‘friends’. And it was probably the memory of them cleaning the entire house, rather than her blowing up at them, that made JJ wary now of hosting another keg-party at the Château. She was all too conscious that Sheriff Peterkin liked to spring surprise visits on them to check how they were doing. Since then, the house-parties had been fewer, and JJ, at least, was mindful of tidying up the beer bottles when they’d had a long night.

“Hurricane Olivia,” Liv winced; it wasn’t one of her proudest moments, in fact she was still a little embarrassed about how badly she had actually blown up.

“It was brutal,” JJ said, smiling easily. “But it’s not like we didn’t know it was brewin’.”

The children played on the freshly-mown lawn for a little while, with JJ pausing to watch as Liv taught them how to do cartwheels, her billowing skirt flying, and the kids attempted to mimic her. As soon as Emilia’s lower lip started trembling the last time she tumbled to the grass, Liv knew it was time to head home, and get the kids fed and ready for bed. They said goodbye to Mrs Crain, who had been watching complacently from the porch, smiling, and promised her they’d visit again.

“Playtime’s over,” Liv sighed, and JJ grinned.

“See you later,” he promised, and Liv nodded, bending to knot her long orange skirt so she could ride her bike without wreaking havoc.

“Can we do this every day?” Nathaniel asked, as they pushed their bikes to the end of Mrs Crain’s de-weeded driveway. It looked neater, if still cracked.

“Every day? You’d get bored,” Liv smiled. “But, I can ask your parents if we could maybe visit Mrs Crain more often when I’m babysitting you this summer. Did you enjoy your music lessons?”

“Yeah. We did a _lot_ today,” Nathaniel observed, and Liv smiled as he yawned widely. “Is JJ your boyfriend?”

“No,” Liv chuckled softly. “But he’s been my friend since we were the same age as you.”

“That’s _forever_!” Nathaniel gaped, and Liv wondered if she should have been affronted by his tone, implying she was ancient.

“Ready?”

Nathaniel led the way home, with Liv calling directions from the rear, pedalling achingly slowly so Steven and Emilia never fell behind. They were relieved to see home, and Liv stifled a groan as the air-conditioning chased away the heat blanketing her skin as they entered the garage, where the children tucked their bikes out of the way, stuffed their helmets away, and clambered for the door into the house, eager for drinks and snacks. She set out a small dish of potato chips and filled their cups with flavoured water from the refrigerator she just prevented herself from climbing into, and when they had finished their drinks, she sent Steven upstairs with Nathaniel to have a quick shower and put on their pyjamas in their bathroom, while she helped Emilia in her own bathroom, carefully combing the tangles from her hair, tucking a clean nightdress over her, and Emilia climbed into her arms, sucking her thumb, to be carried downstairs, tired and tanned from the day. She snuggled up to Nathaniel when Liv suggested they watch _Wall-E_ , not only a firm favourite of the kids, but of Liv herself: It opened up conversations between the kids and their parents, who were heavily into conservation efforts in the Outer Banks and along the North Carolina coastline. Liv had been volunteering with Mrs Rogers’ turtle charity since her freshman year, when she had first started babysitting the children, though she had been less active recently out of necessity for her own survival.

After they finished their dinner - linguine with sausage and peppers - the little ones were tucked into bed after Liv read them _The Lorax_ , and Nathaniel sat up with her, playing a game of _Bananagrams_ , to keep his spelling sharp over the summer. And because he was a good, anxious student, he asked Liv for some equations, something he did every time she babysat him: He was working on _dividing_ , so she gave him four varied equations to improve his thinking about dividing, and the vocabulary. While he sat at the dining-table with his notepad and pencil, Liv did what she always did when she had spent a long day with the kids that had produced a lot of photographs: She hooked up her phone to the family computer, and uploaded the day’s photographs and videos to Mrs Rogers’ Cloud account.

It was closer to seven than six o’clock when she finally tucked her bicycle under the fishing shed lean-to, and the fire was flickering in the pit, John B and JJ swinging idly in the hammocks, enjoying the shade and the breeze sighing off the marsh, sipping beers. JJ had her acoustic guitar out, strumming gently, and John B was brooding over Big John’s compass.

“Hey!” JJ grinned, and Liv sighed, groaning, finally able to _relax_ as she sank into his hammock, closing her eyes, swinging gently.

“Hi,” she murmured, exhausted. She worked too hard. She reached out, gripping JJ’s knee lightly. “Thought of you earlier. We watched _Wall-E_.”

“Best movie ever,” JJ muttered, and he handed her the joint he had been smoking.

“I am so tired,” Liv sighed. She didn’t have to set an alarm! She didn’t have to go to the diner, and _smile_ until her face hurt, didn’t have to mind her manners. It was just going to be her, and the sun, and the surf. Bliss.

“Hey,” John B murmured, and Liv peeked her eyes open, shielding her gaze as he loomed over them. He handed her the crossword book he’d bought her for Christmas - 365 crosswords - and a pen, and Liv smiled, as he passed her a beer. It wasn’t cold, but none of them minded. Warm beer was better than warm soda, any day.

They sat, and they swung lazily in the hammocks, and JJ strummed the guitar, and before she knew it, JJ was giving her a gentle shake, waking her up. She started, and groaned, and left the boys in the hammocks, aching for her bed. In the half-light of dusk, she shuffled into the house, stripping as she went, and slipped under her single sheet in only her panties, glad she had left the blinds drawn, the room cool, the sheet cooler against her warm skin. In the weird light just after sunset, before true nightfall, she frowned at something on her bedside cabinet. A beer-bottle, rinsed out, and containing several magnolia flowers. She could smell their perfume even feet away, and she sat up, for a moment, just to touch the silky-soft petals, glowing white in the darkness, realising that JJ had to have brought them from Mrs Crain’s house. The beer-bottle vase was totally JJ.

She went to sleep smiling, thinking of the sweetness JJ tended to hide. And it broke her heart that he did, because she knew why. He was protecting himself.

Liv reached out for one of the silky soft petals, and sighed. JJ didn’t tend to put himself out there, not really…because to do that made him exquisitely vulnerable in a way he didn’t dare being. But he couldn’t always hide his thoughtful, caring nature, and it shone through in gestures like this.

JJ was a man who never _promised_ things, just surprised her with unusual tokens of his appreciation and affection. New music illegally downloaded onto her _iPod_ Nano. A beautiful encyclopaedia of flowers and plants from the second-hand bookstore for Christmas. Pimping her favourite Korean ramen like they were at a fancy LA restaurant, because it had marked six months since her dad’s official disappearance. Sitting through _Doctor Zhivago_ because she had finished reading the book.

Flowers in a beer-bottle vase.

* * *

Liv may not have set her alarm, but the rooster was crowing long before dawn, and she was so used to it, and to her routine, to her predawn chores and her early-morning cycle-ride to the diner that though she woke at her own leisure, it was hours before John B and JJ, and the sun was just starting to lovingly paint the world with colour as she drove off in the van, a note taped to the porch-door for the boys to find when they woke up.

And she was among the first to head out into the surf.

She was out in the water for hours, breathless, exhilarated, _happy_ , her body aching with strange exertion. It was the one place she didn’t have to think about anything but the board at her feet, the water around her - and dodging tourists and amateur surfers and poser kooks who caused more accidents to experienced surfers by failing to observe surf etiquette.

Out here, she was free. Out here, she was a goddess. Nothing could touch her. She had no worries. No responsibilities. Just her, and the water, and it was glorious. She felt years younger, full of _delight_ , and caught herself smiling as she surfed.

It was almost like a vacation. Spending time in the water, talking to surfers she had known since childhood, just enjoying the surf, and the sun. She saw the beach getting more and more crowded, and felt the sun beaming through her long-sleeved rash-guard, and knew it was time to get back to shore, back to the van, and find something to eat, away from the crowds. She paddled to shore, and cleaned her board before stashing it on top of the van, stripping out of her rash-guard to towel off and pull a dress on over her bikini.

“Thought you’d come back to this rust-bucket eventually,” said a familiar voice, and Liv smiled to herself, glancing over her shoulder as she slipped on her suede espadrille wedge sandals.

“Now, don’t insult Mavis. She’s an old girl but she never lets you down,” Liv said. She flicked her eyes over the tall, good-looking boy standing hesitantly nearby. She said sadly, “Hello, Topper.”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you at the beach all summer,” he said quietly, approaching her almost reluctantly.

“First day I’ve had off work,” Liv said, shrugging, and gave him a gentle smile. It wasn’t his fault she was practically orphaned. It wasn’t her fault his mother was a raging bitch who thought she was trash - but then, Dr Thornton couldn’t even think kindly of her only son, so Liv had never stood a chance to begin with. Still… There was a painful sensation in her chest, and it felt a lot like shame…Dr Thornton had done her utmost to make her disdain for Liv known, digging into everything from Liv’s looks, to her mother’s abandonment of her, her father’s obsessive-compulsive behaviour over finding the Royal Merchant, her brother’s lackadaisical attitude toward higher education and even suggesting Liv had been dating Topper with hopes of snaring a fat divorce settlement down the line. The first time Liv had met Dr Thornton, she had told Liv on no uncertain terms that there would be a prenuptial agreement in place before any vows were exchanged and marriage certificates signed.

The only good thing to come out of all that nastiness last year was that Topper was ashamed of his mother’s treatment of her. And, to an extent, him spending time with Liv had opened Topper’s eyes to the way the majority of people truly lived - and the fact that they really weren’t so very different. They valued loyalty and love, respect and compassion. They got drunk and goofed off, but they also worked hard, and endured pressure and expectations, and wanted a different life to their parents. If they weren’t _friends_ now, they could at least talk. She’d had a few boyfriends, even fewer who were actually serious, but Topper was the only one she still talked to, even if it was only rarely because they went to different schools, hung out with drastically different crowds, and had very hectic lives.

“Watching you out there, surfing… I don’t think I could ever surf like that if I tried my whole life,” Topper said, and Liv smiled gently.

“You’re too much inside your own head,” she said, knowing him too well. “You don’t know how to relax.”

“That’s like the pot calling the kettle black,” Topper said, with a hint of a smile. “You’re like a different person when you’re surfing.”

“Well… I can just let it all go. Leave it all on the beach,” Liv said, sighing and smiling contentedly. “It’s just me and the water. I don’t worry about anything else until my feet touch the sand. It’s the only place I can really switch off. What are you doing here, by the way? You hate tourist season.”

“Yeah,” Topper sighed. “Um…Sarah’s out here with her girlfriends, I’m…taking her to lunch.”

Liv nodded. Ah. Sarah Cameron. The new girlfriend. The _suitable_ one. Dr Thornton would approve of her: She’d have her own reasons to set a prenuptial agreement in place before the wedding. Hundreds of thousands of reasons. Topper didn’t look thrilled.

“Well…enjoy your meal,” Liv said quietly. She hadn’t thought the blow would hurt. After all, she had broken up with Topper. And they went to different schools: She hadn’t had to _see_ him with his new girlfriend.

“You sound like you’re working at the diner,” Topper said, his lips twitching toward a smile, and Liv shrugged gently, sighing. She didn’t know what to say about Topper and his new girlfriend.

“Yeah, well… I’m biting my tongue,” Liv confessed. Topper nodded awkwardly.

“Hey…” he spoke up, when she had turned to the van. “They haven’t heard anything?”

Liv glanced up at Topper, blinking in the sunshine. Her hair was drying, water seeping down the back of her dress, but her shiver had nothing to do with it. “I mean, they declared him dead six months ago, so…” She cleared her throat, adjusting her dress uncomfortably. “They’re not looking anymore.”

Topper stared at her, then nodded slowly. “Um… I heard that…Child Services is getting involved.”

“Yeah, that nightmare is ongoing,” Liv said, attempting a bright, unconcerned tone. “It’s all jumping through hoops, whatever… What about you?” she asked, gazing into his face. “How’s things with your parents?”

“I mean, they’re horrible, but at least they’re alive, right?” Topper said grimly. His parents had been fighting when Liv had still been dating Topper. Topper’s mother was shrewish and mean-tempered, and his dad was intense, but still polite, and had a clearer head on his shoulders. He’d liked Liv, at least, and he’d stopped Dr Thornton bullying their son. “My mom’s more unpleasant even than when you met her, if you can believe it.”

“I’m trying to,” Liv said, and Topper’s lips twitched, his eyes twinkling. But the amusement faltered quickly, and he sighed heavily, coming to sit beside her in the van.

“I just…want to go live with my dad,” he admitted, sighing heavily.

“What do you mean, go live with him?”

“He moved out,” Topper said quietly, focusing on his fingers. “He’s living in the Raleigh house.”

“When did that happen?” Liv asked gently.

“A few weeks before school broke up for the summer,” Topper shrugged. “But he’s been staying there for long weekends since Spring Break. We went out there and had a golfing vacation. That’s when he told me they’re splitting up.”

“How do you feel about that?” There was no point apologising to him, saying she was so sorry - because he had been living with his parents fighting for years, and honestly, Dr Thornton had been so nasty to her, Liv wasn’t surprised she had driven away the people who loved her.

“I’m just glad they’re finally sorting their shit out,” Topper admitted, with a huge sigh of relief. “I’ve been talking to my dad almost every day. He’s apologised for leaving me in the middle of it all. My sisters don’t really care, they’re not coming to Outer Banks this summer.”

“Maybe you could go visit them? Just get away for a little while?” Liv suggested.

“They’d just bust my balls about letting Mom bully you so badly you dumped me,” Topper said miserably, and Liv grinned, chuckling. She had liked Topper’s two older sisters. They were thankfully more like their dad than Topper’s mother.

“As an older sister, I can say with authority that’s their God-given right,” she said, coaxing a smile from Topper. “And I didn’t dump you.”

“You did,” Topper muttered. He glanced up at her. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Liv disagreed. She hadn’t liked breaking up with Topper. Because she had enjoyed spending time with him - he was a smart guy, athletic but well-read, interested in science and literature and sailing. They’d found a lot to talk about. And they had _shared_ things. “So…how’s Sarah?”

“Um…” Topper pulled a face, and sighed. “I don’t know.”

“It’s weird…me asking,” Liv winced, shaking her head, holding up her hands in apology.

“No. No, that’s not it,” Topper said, with a sort of quiet urgency. “That’s not weird. It’s, um…I just…don’t know. We’ve been dating for three months and…I don’t know. I don’t know where I stand with her. It’s like I can’t…find my footing.” He glanced at Liv, and he looked severely unhappy. “It’s like…trying to figure out how to surf in a storm.”

“Vicious, relentless, cold and unsettling?” Liv said, glancing at Topper, who sighed heavily. “That’s, um…quite an evocative descriptor of your girlfriend.”

“Sometimes it’s okay. She can be sweet, but…it’s not like you.”

“What?” Liv asked, frowning.

“You’re…the sweetest person I’ve ever met. When you’re kind and attentive, it’s because that’s your nature,” Topper said, his shoulders slumping as he glanced at her. “When we have a conversation, you’re not just listening to answer… When Sarah pays you attention, it’s because she wants something. The second she doesn’t get it, she turns ice-cold. And…”

“What?” Liv prompted gently, but Topper shook his head, looking flushed and agitated. “Topper, come on…it’s upsetting you. What’s going on?”

“It’s…about sex. I can’t talk to you about sex, it’s too weird -“

“Okay… I’m not going to force you to talk about it,” Liv said gently, respecting his discomfort. “It’s not like we had sex a few dozen times in this very van, after figuring out how to work things out.”

“Yeah,” Topper said softly, glancing at her, a hint of a smile pushing through the gloom as he glanced over his shoulder into the van, and Liv smiled, her cheeks flushing. The van was made up predominantly of happy memories, and her times with Topper in the van were up there among her favourite memories. Especially after a fraught day, there was always her, and Topper, and the van. “I never thought I’d miss Mavis.”

“You were always so precious about getting tetanus,” Liv giggled softly, and Topper reached out to pinch her knee, making her laugh and jerk away from him. They had worked, for as long as they had been together, because they had figured out how to talk to each other - especially about things that made them uncomfortable. Perhaps that was why they could sit here, now, talking about Topper’s parents’ divorce, and his new girlfriend.

“Okay… You really don’t mind?” Topper asked, and Liv nodded, after watching his expression.

“Who else are you going to talk to? I know that Rafe has glommed onto you,” Liv said, with a disapproving frown, stifling a shudder.

“You really don’t like him,” Topper observed, and Liv glanced at him.

“I think he’s a sleazebag. He’s just…unpleasant,” Liv said, frowning. Some of the things John B had told her about what he’d seen while working on _The Druthers_ , the Camerons’ boat, made her wary of the eldest Cameron kid. “It’s just a feeling in the pit of my stomach.”

“You always trust your instincts?” Topper asked, and Liv nodded.

“They’re all I’ve got,” she said simply. She _was_ intuitive. “So…what’s going on with Sarah?”

“Okay,” Topper sighed heavily, turning to her. “It’s like this. When we’re together, she’s either…all over me, or just talking over me, or she’s this really cold bit… _bitch_.” Liv smiled, because his gaze faltered with embarrassment about calling his girlfriend names.

“And when you’re not together?”

“When we’re not together it’s like she doesn’t even remember I exist,” Topper said quietly. “She ignores my calls, and my texts go unanswered for days, even if she’s read them. Even if it’s me asking her what she’d prefer to do on a date… And then… Okay… When we fool around, she’s super into it, you know? And she’ll say she’s ready. And at the _last second_ she’ll change her mind, start panicking, just…withdraw completely. She won’t talk to me, she just closes herself off.”

“Is she a virgin?”

“She says she is,” Topper said quietly.

“It sounds like she struggles with anxiety about being intimate,” Liv said quietly. “Has she talked to you about it?”

“When I ask why she’s pulled back, she just says she ‘thought she was ready’ but… We never talk about it _after_ ,” Topper confessed. “It’s like it never happened, and she just smiles and kisses me like she knows what she’s doing. And that just…confuses me, and pisses me off, I mean - I just…don’t know if she’s doing it to keep me whipped, or if she’s doing it just to be nasty, or if there’s something wrong - if it’s _me_ …”

“If this is happening consistently, every time you two fool around, Topper, it’s not you. It’s not anything you’re doing wrong, okay… It sounds like it’s something Sarah needs to acknowledge and work on,” Liv said quietly. She repeated, “It’s _not you_.”

She knew Theodore “Topper” Thornton: He appeared super confident, with the perfect life, chiselled abs and cheekbones, great grades and prospects, his future wide open for him to do whatever he chose to commit his life to, and the resources to make sure it was _anything_ he wanted. But, and he could thank his loving mother for this, he was actually very insecure, and as much as Liv had broken up with him because his mother was a hideous bitch, it was also because Topper hadn’t had the confidence to stand up to her in defence of Liv. She wasn’t going to be with someone who stood by and let her be treated poorly.

When they had been dating, the biggest milestone for them hadn’t been that they’d had sex: It had been Liv coaxing Topper to _talk_ to her, about anything. Especially the things that made him uncomfortable. To have that confidence to approach her, and have an adult conversation about whatever was upsetting him.

Instinctively, Liv knew Topper wouldn’t respond well to whatever games Sarah Cameron was playing with him, even if it was unintentional. But if it was out of viciousness, trying to control him…well, that wasn’t going to work. They wouldn’t be dating for long. Because if there was one thing Topper couldn’t stand, it was female ambivalence: His _mother_ played emotional games with him, belittling and bullying him. And Liv knew that, because he’d both told her, and she’d witnessed it herself. One traumatising dinner at the Thorntons’ and Liv knew she would rather have grown up at the Château, than in a mansion on Figure Eight any day. Dr Thornton was the most vile, passive-aggressive woman Liv had ever had the misfortune to meet, and as much as she had been dealing with her dad’s disappearance, Topper had been dealing with his mother - the van was their haven, their time with each other a release, their escape. Their therapy sessions. Every time they’d finished, they had talked through what had wound them up so badly.

Until Liv had decided that how she felt when she was with Topper wasn’t worth having to deal with how his mother made her feel. That was the point she’d made her decision, and been upfront about it when she’d ended things with Topper. At every point in their short relationship, they had been honest, and respected open communication.

“I just…I feel like she thinks I’m blaming her, for not wanting to have sex with me,” Topper said, sighing heavily. “That’s not it - I just…get frustrated that she won’t talk about what’s wrong, and won’t even acknowledge it later. And it keeps happening. And I fall for it every time, because I think it’ll be different. Even though I know better.”

It was very clear to Liv in that moment that Topper hadn’t had anyone to talk to about this.

“Is there…any way you can start that conversation with her?” Liv asked gently.

“I’ve tried, before. She just closes off, real _cold_. Acting like it’s my fault, and she’s the one who’s pissed,” Topper muttered uncomfortably.

“Well…like I said,” Liv sighed. “It’s not your fault.”

“You really believe that?”

“You forget who you’re talking to,” Liv smiled sadly. “If there’s one thing that came out of our relationship, it’s that you’re not going to be satisfied brushing things under the carpet when they upset you.”

“That’s true,” Topper sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“And you were always respectful,” Liv said quietly. “The way this keeps happening, it’s something going on with Sarah - and it likely has nothing to do with you.”

“I just…don’t know how to talk to her,” Topper said, shaking his head. “Because she won’t - unless it’s on her terms, about what she wants to talk about. Or her version of it. I just…miss talking to you.” He blinked, as if startled he’d said it out loud, and glanced guiltily at her, as if ashamed to have admitted it.

Liv shrugged, smiling softly. “Look where we are,” she said gently. Sat side by side in the van, enjoying the sunshine, talking about what was most important in their lives right now. The implosion of his parents’ marriage, and his relationship with a new girlfriend. Liv wouldn’t say it aloud, because it wasn’t her place, but…it didn’t sound like his relationship with Sarah Cameron was the healthiest, at least, not for Topper. She sighed, and glanced at Topper. “You can always talk to me, you know. I mean, I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t like you, didn’t enjoy our time together. I just…didn’t like you more than I hated how your mom made me feel.”

Topper scoffed softly to himself, nodding; he knew that was why she had dumped him.

“The irony is, she likes Sarah,” Topper said grimly. He scoffed, shaking his head. “She treats me like crap, and my mom thinks she walks on water. And…you, who treated me well, and can literally dance on water with that surfboard…she was vile to you.”

“She was,” Liv agreed lightly. “But if she can’t see me and Sarah for who we are, that just shows how out of touch she is. It’s her attitude that’s bad, not my upbringing.”

“Is it just…is it just you and your brother?” Topper asked, and Liv nodded.

“Yeah. I mean, most times JJ’s at the Château, too. Sometimes Pope and Kiara,” Liv said.

“Kiara hangs out with you?”

“Yeah. She’s great,” Liv smiled.

“I don’t know why she stopped hanging out with us,” Topper frowned thoughtfully.

“Neither do I,” Liv admitted, sighing. “You’d have to ask your girlfriend.”

Topper scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m sure the answer would be different to what Kie would give. Sarah likes to…compose.”

“You mean, make stuff up to make herself look better?” Liv asked, and Topper nodded.

“Yeah, she’s…got it down to an art-form,” he said miserably. “I’ve caught her out too many times to believe she doesn’t realise she’s doing it.”

“You sound so miserable, Topper,” Liv said concernedly; she couldn’t help herself.

“Well…the girl I really like dumped me ‘coz my mom was a hideous bitch to her,” Topper said offhandedly, shrugging. “After what we had, everything else just feels…crap.”

“Topper…”

“I know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying stuff like this,” Topper said, wincing guiltily. “It’s just… I mean, it’s true. Nothing…compares.”

“Maybe Sarah’s not the right girl,” Liv said gently. “But one day you’re going to find someone who outshines everything. Just…life’s too short to let people make you feel ashamed for being yourself.”

“ _Topper_?!” someone shouted, and they both glanced up. Sarah Cameron stood in a bright bikini-top, high-waisted shorts and sandals, a baseball cap pulled over her hair, falling limply past her shoulders. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Are we going to lunch or not?”

“Yeah,” Topper said, raising his voice slightly as Sarah raised her eyebrows, and her palms in a ‘ _Hello?! What the…_?’ gesture. Sarah crossed her arms tightly over her chest, pouting angrily as she waited for Topper to unfold from the van.

“Enjoy your lobster-roll,” Liv said quietly, smiling sadly at him as Topper glanced over his shoulder at her. Lobster rolls were his favourite.

“I’ll see you, Liv,” he said softly, and Liv smiled as he wandered off, to Sarah, who started haranguing him as soon as he was within earshot. Liv heard the odd word, and, finally, “I’ve been waiting for you for _ages_ , and you’re here hanging out with your _ex-girlfriend_?! She’s a _pogue_.”

“You wanna get lunch, or what?” Topper asked tonelessly, already striding away from Sarah. She scoffed, shot Liv a scathing look, and stormed after Topper, who, by all accounts, _looked_ like he was aloof and unruffled. But the tone in which Sarah had just spoken about Liv…that was _exactly_ the same tone his mother had used to talk about her.

No wonder Dr Thornton liked her.

Liv sighed, shaking her head. It wasn’t her problem. Topper’s relationship wasn’t hers to fix, or have an opinion on. Maybe it was loyalty to what their relationship had been, to the possibility of what it could have become, but Liv worried about Topper sometimes. She still wanted him to be happy, to be emotionally healthy - especially with his parents’ marriage self-destructing, him caught in the middle, now wasn’t the best time for him to be with someone who couldn’t pull her head out of her own ass long enough to see he was struggling, upset, overwhelmed…

Not her responsibility.

She bit her lip, and looped her purse over her head, locking up the van, and wandered to the marina. To _The Wreck_ , where Kie was working a hectic lunch-shift, but still set her up with soda and tortilla chips to scoop up Kiara’s dad’s famous hot, cheesy crab dip. Liv would _bathe_ in that stuff if she could.

“Here ya go,” Kiara grinned. “One steaming bowl of crab dip, and no boys to share it with.”

“Just you watch them make an appearance now,” Liv said, and Kiara chuckled, taking her order. The first time she didn’t have to cook, and was allowing herself the indulgence of ordering whatever she wanted, she wanted a plate loaded with _The Wreck_ ’s finest coastal soul-food: crispy fried fish, corn-on-the-cob, coleslaw, hush-puppies, cheesy grits slathered with spicy shrimp. All her favourite things. She was exhausted from surfing, and hadn’t had breakfast: This was going to be her main meal of the day. She may even spring for dessert from JJ’s cousin’s van.

“It’s busy today,” Liv said, as Kiara set the plate of crab dip in front of her, refreshing her water-glass.

“Yeah, thank God,” Kie sighed. “Dad was worrying, what with the storm and everything.”

“People need to eat,” Liv said, “especially after a scare.”

“I’m surprised the boys aren’t with you,” Kie said. “I mean, I know Pope’s grounded…”

“JJ’s doing yard-work, and John B’s…probably still sleeping,” Liv said, rolling her eyes.

“Wait, you’ve been out alone?” Kiara asked, and Liv nodded.

“Yeah. It’s cool. I’ve been surfing since dawn,” Liv smiled warmly, delighted. There was something so cleansing about saltwater. She had a love-hate relationship with the ocean, as anyone did who had saltwater in their veins. It was beguiling, irresistible. The ocean was life-giving, but it also had tremendous power to destroy. It didn’t give without taking.

Kiara sighed, frowning at her. “You know, I thought it was a trait unique to John B to be that reckless. Now I realise you’re just as impetuous as he is!”

“I do not accept that!” Liv gasped softly. “I like that word, though, _impetuous_. It’s okay, Kie - I wasn’t with you guys, but I wasn’t _alone_ ; there was a big group of us out in the water together, keeping an eye out for each other.”

Kiara sighed heavily, giving her a disapproving look.

“Anyway,” Liv said, smiling softly as she adjusted her sunglasses. “That’s not nearly as interesting as the conversation I had with Topper earlier.”

“Topper? Topper Thornton? I thought you’d shaken that habit,” Kie said grimly. Liv sighed softly, and sipped her water.

“He’s still trying to figure out why you don’t hang out with them anymore,” Liv told Kiara, who looked dubious.

“Why doesn’t he ask his new fake-blonde girlfriend?” Kie sniffed.

“What’s interesting is that he didn’t sound like he’d believe Sarah even if she told him,” Liv said thoughtfully. She had been ruminating on everything Topper had confessed to her.

“I can’t believe they’re dating,” Kie said, wrinkling her nose in disdain. She caught Liv’s eye and grimaced guiltily. “I’m sorry. I know you and Topper had a thing…”

“We had a thing; it’s over,” Liv said quietly, shrugging off just how hurt she had been by Dr Thornton’s behaviour toward her. She hadn’t deserved that.

“Well, from what I know of Sarah Cameron, Topper really traded down,” Kie sniffed, and Liv smiled sadly, because it was sad Kiara could say something like that of her former best-friend. And it wasn’t just out of loyalty to Liv, but out of hatred and hurt caused by Sarah Cameron.

“You say the sweetest things, Kie,” Liv said, smiling softly. “Hey…what’s Sarah like, as a girlfriend?”

“Um… _fleeting_ ,” Kie said, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully. “In the ninth grade, when we were still friends, she cheated on both the boys she dated that year. It’s like she couldn’t be with anyone for longer than a couple months before she got agitated and bolted.”

“Is she a salt-and-burn kind of girl?” Liv asked, frowning. She offered Kie her crab dip, knowing what it felt like to be starving while surrounded constantly by food, her feet aching, breathless for a glass of water and a pause to just _think_.

“Mm…it’s more like she’s the architect of her own unhappiness,” Kie said. “Things can’t be too good before she finds a way to wreck them. And when I say wreck them, I mean for _everyone_ involved, not just her.”

“Hey…when you were friends or - when you stopped being friends… Did you have a fight, or…?”

“No. She just…stopped acknowledging that I even existed,” Kie said, shrugging it off like it didn’t still hurt.

Liv sighed heavily, shaking her head as she scooped up rich, warm crab dip. “ _Kooks_.”


	7. Welcome to the Outer Banks, Bitch!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably mention I'm not a Sarah fan: Everything she says/does comes across as insincere. As for this chapter, her behaviour can be blamed on a combination of excessive amounts of alcohol and her own insecurities! I will be exploring further into her relationship with John B, however, I should let you know that I'm a John B/Kiara shipper. 
> 
> Given everything, the Ward and Rafe of it all, I don't imagine John B and Sarah Cameron's love will be exactly eternal!

**Golden Pogues**

_06_

_Welcome to the Outer Banks, Bitch!_

* * *

“I have to say, considering you’re an ocean goddess, Queen of Atlantis and all that, I take exception to you buying up all the _plastic_ cups in Kildare Island,” Pope remarked, and Kiara rolled her eyes.

“Considering you’re grounded, I’m wondering how you’re even here to give me sass about it,” Kiara said.

“Yeah, you know your dad’s gonna blame _me_ for you sneaking out,” JJ said easily.

“’Coz you had _nothing_ to do with it!” Pope chuckled.

“It was like a Rapunzel situation, I was very heroic. ‘Oh, Heyward, Heyward, let down your hair’!” JJ cooed playfully.

“Did you stand under his window with a boom-box?” Liv teased.

“No. Opportunity lost there. I was tryin’ to be covert,” JJ said, grinning, and Liv smiled.

“I finished the first draft of my merit-scholarship essay,” Pope said, in a sombre tone that made John B chuckle as JJ shook his head. “My dad’s proofreading it tonight so I can take another look at it and make revisions tomorrow.”

“So he _doesn’t_ know you’re out with us?” Liv asked. “See, it’s things like this that give us a bad rap.” John B grunted as he and JJ lifted the keg over a fallen tree, Kiara swinging her bag of plastic cups as she led the way through the labyrinth of tree-trunks littering the shoreline.

The Boneyard was so named for the way sun-bleached trees torn down by decades of hurricanes past had been left where they had fallen, bleached by the sun, like the elephant graveyard in _The Lion King_ , eerie in the misty dawn and in the moonlight, and providing a lot of seating for underage drinkers with nowhere else to spend their summer nights. The tree-trunks also provided cover from the winds that tended to pick up at night, sheltering the bonfires they had learned over the years to keep low. The Boneyard was one of the few haunts that were almost exclusively pogue territory, unless there was a keg being tapped. In which case, it was a hub of activity for pogues, kooks and the tourons either kook or pogue had coerced during a day at the beach into hanging out with them for the duration of their vacations. John B called them chum for the sharks; they were easy-pickings.

A keg-party at the Boneyard was a staple of the summer, and they were throwing the first of the season. John B had secured the keg; and the tap had lived permanently in the van since they invested in one six months ago.

“Hey JJ, your cousin’s gonna bring the van over later,” Liv said, as the boys wedged the keg in prime position. “He’s gonna sell joints, and my pulled-pork sandwiches and cookies.”

“Nice!” JJ grinned. “Wait - you’re not helping him, are you?”

“Just ‘til the food runs out,” Liv promised.

“I thought you said today was your day off,” JJ sighed.

“What can I say, the inertia is killing me,” Liv teased softly. JJ rolled his eyes. “Anyway, the cookie dough and the pulled-pork are from me. It was supposed to be for Fourth of July but it’s gonna spoil. We can’t eat all of it; might as well make some money off it.”

“Alright, I can respect that,” JJ sighed, shaking his head. “But - dammit - you will party and have a good time, young lady!”

“Yes, sir!” Liv saluted playfully, and JJ grinned. “John B, how’s it going? Is it time for JJ’s baptism yet?”

“Working on it,” John B called back, as he and Pope got to work with the tap. Liv sighed, taking a moment to just stand still, enjoying the sun kissing her skin, the gentle caress of the breeze teasing her hair, the scent of brine and sun-baked sand, the sound of the waves crashing into the beach, the sighs of the water tickling her toes as the tide breathed in and out, gazing out to sea. JJ slung his arm around her shoulders, following her gaze.

“I mean…” JJ sighed, shaking his head, as he stared out at the ocean, his blue eyes sparkling in the sunshine. “What else d’you need, really?”

“Not much,” Liv said softly, slipping an arm around his waist, and they stood there, watching the water shimmering in the sunlight.

“You’ve been smiling all day,” JJ observed, glancing at her. The boys had found her after lunch, clustered around the van, eating potato-chips and sipping sodas. While her lunch settled, and the sun was at its hottest, they sat in the shade of the van, playing cards. And then, as the beaches started to clear of tourists heading back to their accommodation to get ready for dinner at one of the few cult establishments of the Outer Banks - of which Kiara’s dad’s restaurant _The Wreck_ was the premiere destination - they had headed out with their boards, and surfed until the sun started threatening to boil the seas as it sank toward the horizon. They’d cleaned their boards, downed gallons of water and _Gatorade_ , dried off and changed into their Boneyard keg-party finest. Literally throwing clean-ish, dry clothes over their swimsuits: Inevitably, someone ended up in the water whenever there was a party at the Boneyard.

“I’ve had a good day,” Liv said softly, smiling as she gazed out at the shimmering water. Days like this were worth the grind of the weeks preceding it. If she had to kill herself most weeks, to enjoy one perfect day like this, then she’d happily continue to show up at the diner for her four a.m. shift, and plan fun activities for the Rogers kids. And if she could enjoy tonight, _and_ make a profit on the Château’s lack of power by selling her pulled-pork sandwiches and cookies to drunk kids, so much the better!

“You work too damn hard,” JJ muttered, his expression unusually sombre as he looked at her.

“I know,” Liv sighed. JJ glanced over his shoulder, noting where Pope and Kiara were.

“You know you don’t _have_ to, right?” he said earnestly. “Scooter’s cash…”

“How else would we explain where the money’s coming from?” Liv said softly. Everybody knew Big John sank whatever spare cash he had into searching for the _Royal Merchant_ : He wasn’t setting aside sums for emergencies, like when he orphaned his children, panning for gold in the graveyard of the Atlantic. Or setting up college funds so his kids could have a chance at a better life.

“I don’t know… Sugar-daddy,” JJ shrugged, and Liv chuckled.

“Speaking of, how’s Mrs Crain?”

“She’s good. Both lawns are mown now, I’m gonna start working through the flowerbeds over the next couple weeks. She made shrimp and grits for lunch,” JJ said, his eyes lighting up.

“Oh, hers is the best,” Liv said, beaming. “Better than Kie’s dad’s.”

“She said she’d show me how to cook it, if I wanted,” JJ sighed softly. “And crochet.”

“ _You’re_ gonna learn to crochet?”

“I told her about not being able to sit still,” JJ said. “And she has a blanket like they have on _Roseanne_.”

“Oh, the afghan?” Liv smiled. They adored _Roseanne_ \- Liv was mortified and disappointed with her recent behaviour, after being ecstatic about a reboot - and there was no denying that the Conner family hadn’t defined their childhood. Sneaking out of bed to watch midnight reruns on _nick@nite_. If Kitty Forman was the ultimate TV mom, then Dan Conner was the ultimate nontoxic-masculine dad. As kids, they had all watched _That 70s Show_ and _Roseanne_ , adoring Mrs Forman as their surrogate mother, while JJ had learned as much about being a man from Dan Conner as he had from Big John.

“Anyway… I think Mrs Crain just liked having company while she ate,” JJ said thoughtfully.

“She does,” Liv said sadly. She committed one afternoon and one whole evening, including dinner, to Mrs Crain every week, and had for months. There was something so stable, so _safe_ , in their routine, and sad, too, that Liv, with no blood relation to her, was the closest Mrs Crain had to a grandchild.

“It’s kind of…sad,” JJ said quietly. “Her living in that big house, all alone, surrounded by stuff she can’t even enjoy anymore.”

“It’s _tragic_ ,” Liv agreed. “I’d rather live at the Château with you all, than live in that big empty house alone.”

“Me too,” JJ sighed, squeezing her shoulders.

“Do you want a beer?” Liv asked, smiling at him.

“I’m breathing, aren’t I?” JJ retorted, and they wandered over to Pope, manning the tap.

“I don’t think the Lucas T Vanderhorst Merit Scholars would approve of this behaviour,” JJ chided, plucking a cup from Pope’s hand. “I’m gonna have to confiscate this for your own good.”

“Do _you_ want to man the tap all night?”

“How much d’you want me to charge per cup?” JJ asked, grinning.

“You only make money when you don’t sample the product,” Liv reminded him.

“That’s where I’m going wrong,” JJ clicked his tongue.

“That’s why your cousin won’t let you work in the van,” Liv smiled.

“Also, I don’t have your sweet rack, so, you know, there’s that,” JJ shrugged, and Liv reached out to steal his beer. “Hey! Alright, fine, I’ll give you that one. Pope, _another_!”

“I _just_ gave you -“

“Livi _stole_ it!” JJ pouted.

“ _Share_!” John B chided.

It was a while before the first of their friends started to trickle to the Boneyard, ready to party: Until then, they did what they always did - they entertained themselves. Kie tried out some song lyrics on them, drumming against the keg, and they threw JJ’s hacky sack between them, laughing and teasing each other. They got tipsy and happy and handsy - JJ especially was a tactile drunk, sweet and a little feisty, physically affectionate - and they _played_ , teasing each other.

Not about how John B and Kiara were flirting more openly than they ever would if they were sober: There were unspoken rules, and at the moment, the sweet tension between John B and Kie was one of those things they just didn’t draw attention to. Because it was awkward and complicated and everyone knew about it, even if no-one mentioned it. At least, not to John B or Kie themselves. JJ sat on one of the fallen trees, his arms around Liv’s neck, where she sat in the sun-baked sand, leaning back against him, sipping her beer and laughing with their friends from school, JJ murmuring in her ear as he spied John B and Kiara blatantly flirting. Something about being at the Boneyard, something about the beer, about them being surrounded by other people, relaxed the boundaries they had set themselves.

“…found his body - look at the picture, isn’t it _so gross_?” someone laughed tipsily, and Liv glanced around, frowning. A blonde girl - Kylie, a freshman - was showing her phone to Pope. “Dead body!”

“What dead body?” Liv asked, and JJ stiffened around her.

“They found Scooter Grubbs’ body out in the marsh,” Kylie said. “Scared the hell out of an old fisherman, apparently the crabs were _all over_ Scooter’s body, going to town!”

“Gross,” JJ grimaced, shuddering, and Liv glanced up at him, trying to read his face. He didn’t meet her eye.

“Did you know about this?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged subtly. “Didn’t want to spoil your day.”

“…apparently that dirt-bag copped a brand-new _Grady-White_ ,” Kylie was saying to Pope, shaking her head. Pope pored over her phone, examining her photographs of the dead body. He was such a weirdo, obsessed with dead bodies. Who decided to become a coroner at sixteen?

“At least Ms Lana can sell the boat for cash,” Liv said, and Kylie shook her head.

“Scooter was out during the storm,” Kylie said. “Everyone’s looking for the boat. Pretty sweet finder’s fee for whoever finds it.” Liv sighed heavily, settling back against JJ, as talk turned to Scooter Grubbs’ unusual change in fortunes if he’d found the cash to buy himself a _Grady-White_.

“Ugh. What is she doing here?” Kie muttered, appearing with a refresh of their cups. She was gazing toward the shore, and Liv followed her gaze, to a blonde girl in a floral-patterned blue dress fluttering at the tops of her thighs. She frowned at Liv. “Did you tell Topper about the keg?”

“No,” Liv frowned, gazing at Topper, who was smiling and flirting with Sarah Cameron.

“You’ve been talking to Topper?” JJ frowned at her, and Liv glanced over her shoulder at him, nodding. “I thought he wasn’t sniffing around anymore.”

“He’s not,” Liv said softly. “He just saw me at the beach before lunch.”

“Why are they _here_?” Kie asked no-one in particular, scowling in the sunshine at Sarah Cameron, her former best-friend. She downed the last of her beer, and stumbled over the tree-trunk to get a refill.

“You know, I think this is your fault; you gave that kook a taste of the pogue life,” JJ said, his lips twitching. “You know what they say: once you go Pogue -“

“Drink your beer,” Liv smiled.

“I’m just saying… Dude’s whipped. ‘Whipped like the family pig’,” he quipped, smirking, mimicking Fez from _That 70’s Show_. He grinned, landing a kiss on Liv’s cheek.

“Maybe,” Liv conceded, smiling up at JJ, wiping her face, “but not by me. Not anymore.”

“The kook princess?” JJ scoffed, glancing across the beach at Topper and Sarah, who were flirting in the water, barefoot and gilded, looking like a living _J Crew_ campaign. JJ was getting that slightly off-kilter look about him, eyes slightly glazed. “God. Look how perfect they are. Perfect, perfect kooks. It’s _sickening_.”

“Appearances aren’t everything,” Liv said softly, following JJ’s gaze. She sighed, settling into JJ’s arms, and told him, “I wouldn’t want their lives.”

“I’d want their bank-account,” JJ said, pulling a grumpy face.

“Doesn’t come without strings,” Liv murmured, watching Topper. She was starting to get a little closer to dizzy rather than just tipsy, conscious of every time she breathed, and blinked, and her mouth felt dry, sure sign she’d drunk too much. By rule, Liv wasn’t much of a drinker, especially not at parties like this; she preferred sharing a few beers with the pogues back at the Château, playing drunk board-games, listening to music, cooking and goofing off. She handed her unfinished beer to JJ, climbing off the ground and dusting off her backside. “Hey, it looks like your cousin’s here, ‘m gonna go help out.” And sober up a little!

JJ nodded glumly, helping her climb over the tree-trunk, but let her go, staying where he was while she shook herself and made her way over to the battered ice-cream van. JJ’s cousin Joseph greeted her when she poked her head through the door; climbing inside, she was suddenly starving as the scent of chocolate-chip cookies and barbecue overwhelmed her. Joseph had a crockpot and a countertop convection-oven going, a bucket of her slaw, sliced burger buns and a large jar of apple-sauce, a pile of napkins, paper bowls and wooden forks, a bucket full of spicy ramen noodle packets. It was a sweatbox inside the van, but she was used to it; and the generator kept a freezer going. She could dip into the popsicles if she wanted.

“You look wasted,” Joseph laughed. It was an unusual sight: But Liv hadn’t had a real drink in too long - she didn’t have the tolerance the boys had built up over the last few months.

“Immmay’ve had a l’il too mush fun,” Liv nodded, gasping for breath, and Joseph chuckled, handing her an unopened purple _Gatorade_. She snapped open the cap and drained it in a few seconds.

“You can grab a sandwich if you want,” Joseph grinned lazily.

“ _Nooodles_ would be great,” Liv sighed appreciatively, smiling; the hot-plates on top of the little oven were ready and raring to go, water simmering away. If Liv was a burgeoning hustler, seizing every opportunity, then Joseph made it an art-form: and she couldn’t help think if Joseph went legitimate, he’d actually have the skill to run a successful business. She yawned, Joseph handed her another unopened _Gatorade_ , and she sipped it while she prepared the first pulled-pork sandwiches, nodding her head to Joseph’s playlist - currently playing: ‘Love Gun’ by _KISS_. It said a lot about how much time Liv spent with Joseph, who was JJ’s favourite cousin and the only decent person in his family, that she was word-perfect with every single song on his playlists. If Joseph reminded her of anyone, it was Steven Hyde: it was Joseph who’d introduced them to _That 70s Show_ to begin with, to classic rock and punk music. And _the_ _circle_.

She had grown up with Joseph as a surrogate cousin, as much as JJ had grown up with Joseph as an older-brother. He had been looking out for JJ since they were kids; and Liv knew he kept an eye on her, too. Like JJ, and like Steven Hyde, Joseph wasn’t a bad guy at all; he had just grown up in the shittiest of circumstances. And the orphans had to look out for each other. Joseph was the eldest, and had taught them all a lot, especially about making a dollar out of a dime.

Liv wondered, as she slathered apple-sauce and sweet-and-spicy slaw onto another bun, if Joseph was proud of his legacy.

As ‘Let There Be Rock’ started playing, Liv and Joseph both started singing and dancing along, Joseph lighting up as he handed back change with a stack of cookies, passing her the joint as he turned to the hotplates, filling an order for spicy noodles, and Liv coughed at the sight of Topper’s raised eyebrows.

“Hey,” he said, and Liv smiled shyly down at him. He tucked his phone back into his pocket.

“Topper. Did you just take our photo?” she said, but she just laughed, handing the joint back to Joseph; she knew Topper loved his photography, and the memory of his fancy _iPhone_ X was probably already straining to cope.

“It was too good a photograph to pass up the opportunity,” he shrugged.

“As long as I don’t see it circulating Kildare County Sheriff’s Department. What’re you after?” she asked, still flattered - he’d taken some beautiful photographs of her in the past, saved onto her phone, and to an external hard-drive to have printed properly at some point.

“Uh…three of your finest pulled-pork sandwiches,” Topper said, glancing at the faintly-illuminated chalkboard showing their menu and prices. “You got any root-beer? And a candy necklace.”

“You got it - hey, do me a favour? Rub the sandwich off the menu,” Liv asked him, and Topper nodded, reaching out to smear the chalk. “That’s the last of the pulled-pork.”

“It was good while it lasted,” Joseph smiled appreciatively, counting out Topper’s change as he handed over a can of soda and a candy-necklace. He slipped the soda into his pocket, the necklace around his wrist, and he groaned in ecstasy when Liv handed him the first sandwich and he took a healthy bite.

“This is good, man,” Topper told Joseph honestly, examining the sandwich.

“Not me; Liv cooked it. I just reheated it and overcharged you for it, man,” Joseph grinned lazily.

“You cooked this?” Topper asked Liv, raising his eyebrows. He gave the sandwich an appreciative look, as she finished the other two sandwiches, resting them on their napkins on the window ledge.

“She’s a woman of many talents,” Joseph smiled fondly, and Liv nodded. “Who’s next? We’re outta the sandwiches, so you can have cookies or spicy ramen. We also got popsicles, soda, spliffs, smokes and candy.”

“I didn’t know you could cook like this,” Topper murmured, gazing rapturously at the sandwich he swiftly demolished in one last large bite. “It’s so good.”

“Glad you like it,” Liv smiled, as Topper took the two other sandwiches. He nodded at her in acknowledgement, carrying the sandwiches to his friend Kelce and to Sarah Cameron, who was giggling and getting handsy with another kook boy Liv only knew by sight. It looked like Sarah needed to sober up, and Liv watched Topper out of the corner of her eye as she made spicy ramen, switching with Joseph so he could get away from the heat of the oven and simmering pans on the hotplates, thinking about how considerate a boyfriend Topper had always been to her. Even now, he was buying food and soda to help his girlfriend sober up, instead of letting her throw herself over that precarious precipice that led to wreck-the-party drunk. Sarah Cameron was a girl who didn’t know how to _not_ be at the centre of attention when she was sober: from personal experience, and from Kie’s stories, Sarah was a loud, messy, nasty drunk.

“Alright, we’re out of cookies, and we’re down to the past few packets of noodles,” Liv told Joseph, who was hiding out of sight to straighten out the treasury. “Not bad for a few hours’ work.”

“Drunk kids, man,” Joseph smiled, counting out the cash. “Lemme just eat somethin’ and you can head back out to the party.”

“I’ll make enough for you, me and JJ,” Liv said, and she balanced cooking ramen while selling potato-chips, sodas, spliffs and candy. She handed Joseph his portion, setting the lid on the saucepan to keep the noodles hot while she continued to sell: When Joseph had consumed his noodles, they switched, and she overloaded a bowl with noodles, took her cut of the cash Joseph had left out for her, and made to leave the van.

“Hey,” Joseph called her back, and handed her a can of beer, blessedly chilled. “Can’t let you leave my van looking that sober. It’s just wrong.” She had managed to sober up a good amount, and slipped out of the van with an open beer in one hand, itching to dig into the noodles. She found JJ, flirting harmlessly with a touron, and tucked the beer between her feet in the sand as she sat beside him, digging into the noodles.

“You want some?”

“Yes. Can’t lift my arms; you’ll have to feed me,” JJ smiled contentedly, and she twirled some noodles onto the fork, blowing cold air on them before offering them to him. He sighed in appreciation, and his lips puckered as he sucked the noodles between them. Sauce splashed his chin and nose, startling him, and Liv laughed, reaching up to wipe the sauce away with the backs of her fingers.

“’Oh, Tish! When you pat my cheek it drives me wild!!!’” JJ crooned, pretending to swoon, grabbing Liv’s hand and planting loud, sloppy kisses on her hand and arm.

“’You Castilians are so fiery’,” Liv laughed, remembering Morticia’s response. They loved vintage _Addams Family_. “Get away - you’re making me sick!”

“How’d you do?”

“Drunk kids, barbecue sandwiches, weed and freshly-baked cookies; always a lucrative combo,” Liv smiled contentedly.

“Hey! You sold me the cookies! They were _soooo_ _good_. You know what you should sell?” spoke up the tourist, and Liv glanced at her inquiringly. “Mac-and-cheese. And nachos.” She gasped. “Or _popcorn_.”

“She’s baked,” JJ said proudly.

“Like a cake! Is it always like this in the Outer Banks during summer?” the girl asked, and JJ nodded eagerly, grinning. “This is the _best_ \-- _vacation_ \-- _ever_.”

“See, you saying that, it gives me such a sense of civic pride in my hometown,” JJ smiled, slipping his arm around the girl’s shoulders, and Liv rolled her eyes, savaging her spicy noodles. Spicy food and beer was the _best_ after a long, hot day. She jumped, when someone climbed onto the tree beside her, and she blinked at Topper, her cheek pouched with noodles.

“Topper? I thought you -“ She frowned at the sandwich in his hands, not even touched, and glanced over her shoulder. “Where’s - ?”

“Don’t,” Topper grunted softly, shaking his head, scowling at the sand. “I don’t want to talk about her. Just… I’m gonna enjoy this sandwich she wouldn’t eat.”

“She doesn’t like carbs?” Liv asked quietly, watching the way Topper’s anger seemed to melt away as he savoured each bite of the sandwich.

“She doesn’t like being told she’s drunk, apparently,” Topper sniffed, and Liv nodded.

“Got it,” she said softly, tangling her fork in the noodles.

“This is such a good sandwich,” Topper sighed appreciatively. JJ’s girl disappeared, following the scent of freshly-baked cookies another guy was enjoying by the fireside; JJ turned to Liv, sighing.

“You ate all of them?!” he blinked, looking heartbroken, as Liv twirled up the last forkful of noodles. She nodded emphatically. JJ tilted his head, overbalancing a little, and blinked at Topper. “What’s he doin’ here?”

“Walking away,” Topper muttered, examining the sandwich before he took another bite. Liv glanced at him. Walking away, rather than do or say something he’d regret.

“Let’s leave him to his sandwich,” Liv said, patting Topper’s knee. “I’m gonna go find a trash-bag.”

“No, no you’re not - you’ll start _cleaning_!” JJ protested. “We’re gonna get _beer_ and you’re going to like it!”

“Fine!” Liv pouted, as he grabbed her hand, tugging her to her feet. She picked up her can of beer from the sand, and waved at Topper as JJ strode toward the cluster of people gathered around the keg, where Kiara had taken over for John B. If they provided the keg, they took turns manning the tap: they took turns taking in the cash. Because they weren’t stupid: they charged for every cup. Kooks paid extra on principle.

“What was that about?” JJ asked, his arm slung around her shoulders, glancing back at Topper, brooding over his barbecue sandwich.

“Relationship stuff,” Liv sighed.

“I know that - I meant, why’s he coming to sit with _you_ when he’s pissed at his girl?” JJ asked. “To make her jealous?”

Liv glanced around, finding Sarah; she didn’t seem to care at all what her boyfriend was up to, while she was flirting with another boy. “I don’t think she particularly cares.”

And it explained why, thirty minutes later, Topper picked a fight.

Liv had lost track of JJ around the keg; by the time she found him again, Topper was shoving him into the surf.

And because he’d laid his hands on JJ, John B got involved, shoving Topper away.

“-- think you’d best be leaving!” John B was saying sternly, squaring up to Topper. “Your girlfriend’s clearly the _ugly_ side of drunk.”

“ _What’d_ you ssssay’bout me?” Sarah slurred aggressively, her hair tangled, the short hem of her dress fluttering at the tops of her thighs. “Who the fuck’re you t’ call me _ugly_ , you’re a dirty fuggin’ _pogue_!”

“Such language from a _pristine_ kook princess,” JJ taunted, clicking his tongue, his face mocking as Sarah wavered, panting, and Topper eyed her uneasily, reaching for her; she swatted his hands away, her posture aggressive as she advanced on JJ. “What my friend here is tryin’ to say is that you’re a mess, and it’s embarrassing to watch, and you should go home,” JJ enunciated, panting, his shorts splashed with seawater where he had stumbled back into the surf.

“You think I’mma let a dirty _pogue_ tell me what to do!” Sarah shouted, lashing out at JJ. It was the kind of slap that everyone felt, and it brought Liv up short as the others froze, temporarily robbed of breath - shocked, that she would get physically violent. The pogues were stunned she’d lay a hand on one of their own, on _JJ_ , and the kooks were grimacing with embarrassment at her sloppiness, even as their lips twitched with amusement that she’d hit JJ.

JJ just blinked, his smirk frozen in place - he _never_ let it show that it bothered him - as Sarah advanced again. As her hand raised to strike, Liv stalked up to her, grabbing her wrist and wrenching her arm down.

“ _Ow_!” Sarah yelped, whining. “You’re hurting me!”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Liv said quietly, holding on tight as Sarah writhed, spitting with anger, trying to get free. She felt Sarah’s fingernails scratch at her, but when she caught Sarah’s eye, Liv’s face was stern and unyielding, and mostly sober - unlike the hot mess that was Sarah Cameron, her dyed hair tangled, her lips swollen, a fresh hickey teasing at her neck, her dress rumpled, her makeup smeared, and her eyes glazed and out of focus. Visibly, messily drunk.

“ _Ow_! Topper! Your _psycho_ _ex_ is attacking me!” Sarah shrieked dramatically. “Get her off me!! Get _off me_ , you dirty bitch!”

“Words hurt,” Liv clicked her tongue.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Topper said quietly, frowning at Sarah. Liv glanced over at him, surprised.

“Get her _off me, Topper_! It’s a _party_ , ‘m having a good fucking _time_ \- for once,” Sarah slurred, turning dark, mean eyes on Topper. “Mmmaybe you could actually pull th’ stick outta’r ass for once ‘n enjoy it, so I didn’t have to find someone else to party with.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Topper said quietly. “Maybe next time _I’ll_ get trashed, and you can be the one to make sure _I_ don’t get assaulted because I’m so wasted and out of control.”

“Don’t you _dare_ try’n control me!” Sarah said, and Liv started as Sarah launched herself out of her grip, flying at Topper.

“Control you? I’m trying to stop you making a complete fool of yourself and getting hurt!” Topper frowned, evading her flailing hands. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why the hell was _he_ pulling you off John B?”

“Apparently she has no respect for the word ‘no’,” JJ said darkly, glancing at Liv, who glanced at Sarah. She gave Medusa a run for her money with the look she shot at JJ. “And John B’s too much of a gentleman to shove her off him.”

“What?” Topper blinked, staring at JJ.

“Uh - yeah. Turns out one conquest a night isn’t enough for her,” Kie spoke up, hands on her waist, her expression condescending as she sniffed at Sarah.

“They’re _lying_ ,” Sarah hissed, stumbling drunkenly. “As if I’d go after a dirty _pogue_.”

“That’s a nice hickey you’ve got there. Very classy,” Kie said cuttingly. “Your work, Topper?”

“No,” Topper said quietly, frowning grimly at Sarah, who was swaying slightly, scoffing with indignation. And she was swaying, because she was so drunk - Liv wondered if she’d even remember this in the morning. Remembering what Topper had confessed about their relationship, Liv wondered if Sarah would acknowledge it even if she _did_ remember.

And that’s when everything really went to shit.

Because it wasn’t bad enough that Sarah Cameron was a messy, embarrassing, aggressive drunk, or that Topper had already been upset that she was blatantly flirting with other guys, but she looked visibly rumpled, and it was a pogue she had been hitting on - regardless of whether he had been the one to suck on her neck leaving the bruise for all to see, it was the fact that he was here, right in front of Topper, and within swinging distance.

After, Liv couldn’t remember what exactly was said that provoked the first punch.

All she did know was that two boys with months’ worth of pent-up frustration finally had a chance to let it all out. And they did. Violently, and repeatedly.

John B wasn’t much of a fighter. He had more than enough latent aggression to hold his own… But that first punch from Topper? He’d be feeling that hit for _weeks_.

It was painful to watch - not just witnessing Topper’s anger and frustration, but watching John B take the hits. Take the punishment.

He’d been in a drunken, pot-clouded haze for months, drowning in denial and apathy. And John B hated it: He hated not knowing, he hated that clawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that he kept denying in spite of all evidence, hated being beholden to the DCS and school and everyone telling him that _the best thing for him_ was to accept that their father was dead. And he hated most of all the memory on repeat, his last conversation - last _fight_ \- with Big John.

The fight where he’d told Big John that he was a shit father.

The last thing he’d ever said, before their dad had disappeared.

He punished himself every day for that fight, believing the impossible - that Big John was alive - because it hurt too much to believe their dad was gone, and that was the last thing he had ever said to him.

And he took Topper’s punches, because he wanted to _feel_ that physical pain - to drown out the emotional anguish that had been turning him inside-out for months. And he slung back, because it was the only time he had ever been able to lash out - to take it out on someone else that their dad was gone, and the last words he’d said to him were vicious, and truthful, and would haunt him for the rest of his life.

As quickly as John B shoved Topper that first time, and received a punch to the eye that had the crowd groaning in sympathy, Liv started to sober up. The crowd jostled, cheering, and Topper’s friend Kelce shoved at Pope - JJ inserted himself between them, swinging, and Kiara shouted at them for being so stupid, Sarah screamed at John B for tackling Topper into the surf, calling _John B_ a psycho for defending himself, and JJ, for defending Pope - and Liv watched in frustration, and resignation…

Because the boys needed this.

It was like that awful scene in _Sons of Anarchy_ when the bikers were all in prison, and Clay and Jaxon had the brutal brawl to channel their aggression and determine the alpha. She remembered that scene: Because Happy had been in it, shirtless, showing off his tattoos - and prevented from interfering.

But they hadn’t been near an open body and water. And it had been a scripted, choreographed fight: They hadn’t taken it too far.

It hadn’t been real.

_This_ was.

Even in _The O.C._ , Luke had never shoved Ryan’s head under the water as the waves crashed in. Never held Ryan’s head underwater, squeezing his throat - Liv’s breath caught in her own throat, watching, and suddenly her feet were freezing, buffeted by the waves, and she was slapping Topper across the face as hard as she could - in the moonlight, the expression on his face was…scary.

Panting, gasping, she stared in horror as Topper shook himself, blinking, stumbling away, falling over in the surf as he staggered back, and she scooped John B up out of the water, looping her arms under his armpits, hoisting him up. She heard retching, and a weak gasp, John B struggling in her grip as she dragged him to the sand, where she dumped him, thumping his back with her hand as he choked and spit out seawater, long hair plastered to his face. He was wheezing.

“Alright, _THAT’S IT! PARTY’S OVER! EVERYONE GET THE FUCK AWAY_!!!” JJ bellowed, his eyes glowing in the moonlight as the gathered crowd dispersed - it didn’t take much: The noise level had died down as they realised Topper was crossing a line, on the verge of _drowning_ John B… They scattered, and Liv patted John B’s back as he took shuddering, wheezing gasps, shivering on his hands and knees. She glanced up, at Kelce already running, tugging a drunk Sarah behind him. Topper stood, panting, wide-eyed, in the water, his hand raised to his cheek.

“Topper - go home,” Liv said, stunned to realise her voice was hoarse, breaking as she spoke, her eyes burning. “ _Go home_.”

“Are you okay, John B?” Pope asked concernedly, as he and JJ approached, each taking an arm and helping John B off the sand. John B nodded as he coughed, and let them support him back to the van. He was soaking wet, half-drunk, nearly drowned, and shuddering on deep gasps of breath. Liv watched the boys half-carry her brother away from the water’s edge, realising her own breaths were coming in shallow pants - of terror.

“Liv…”

Topper still stood in the surf, blinking in the moonlight, which carved out his high cheekbones and the stunned, almost detached look on his face. Her hand stung from slapping him. She hated physical violence, had never hit anyone - hated that she had been the only one to try to stop Topper from drowning another kid. _No-one_ else had. They had coaxed on the fight; and then backed off, shocked, when it escalated too far. But they hadn’t intervened. Pulled the boys off each other.

Liv wiped her face, where tears burned her sun-tender skin, and turned away, following in the wake of the boys, where Kiara was waiting for her, her hand outstretched; Liv took it, and they followed the boys to the van.

“ _I’ll_ drive,” Pope said sternly, taking the keys from JJ, who was muttering vengefully under his breath.

“What was he _thinking_?” Kie asked, sliding the van door shut after they piled in. Liv sat beside JJ, shivering: He noticed, and slipped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. The warmth of her skin seared hers; she hadn’t realised how cold she was, and how tense. As Pope navigated the kids fleeing the Boneyard, and the other cars, they hit the open road and headed out toward the Château in silence. After a few minutes, Kiara asked, “John B, are you alright?”

“I’m good, Kie,” John B promised her, his voice scratchy. “Nothin’ a beer can’t help.”

“John B…” Liv said quietly.

“I’m fine, Olivia.” It was a curt sentence. No-one ever called her Olivia. Liv stared in the dark.

“You’re actually pissed - at me?!”

“I was holding my own -“

“He was trying to drown you -“

“Are you kidding me?!”

“John B…you were not holding your own,” JJ said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically sober. “Topper was kicking your ass, man…and you looked like you were letting him.”

“Why would you let Topper get the drop on you like that?” Pope asked from behind the wheel.

“Because he thinks he deserves the pain,” Liv said quietly, and the others fell silent, because John B didn’t deny it.

The night ended, as so many had, at the Château, with John B snapping open a warm beer, the others settling down wherever they could find somewhere soft to sleep, and Liv retreating to her room, rather than pick a fight with John B over the fact he’d nearly gotten himself killed letting Topper punish him for what he’d said to Big John before he disappeared.

“I don’t _believe_ they were fighting over _Sarah Cameron_ ,” Kiara sniffed, shaking her head, and she wound her hair into a ponytail to protect it while she slept. Liv poured herself a glass of water in the kitchen. She drained it, refilled it, and passed it to JJ, who lingered, leaning against the counter, watching her solemnly in the lamplight. He downed the glass, handing it back to her.

Liv fiddled with one of her bracelets, a tiny little icon flashing in the lamplight. Tonight, like many nights, especially when they involved hot weather, free-flowing alcohol and too many teenaged boys, had end miserably - with them all slinking back home feeling miserable and shaken.

“You know what my favourite animal is?” she asked softly, to the room in general.

“Elephants,” JJ said automatically, and Liv nodded slowly, fiddling with her bracelet. It was one Kie had gifted her, one of a set of pretty rainbow chakra beaded bracelets.

“They’re majestic, fearsome…but still gentle. They move slower than most animals, but they travel just as far. But that’s not why I like them,” Liv said thoughtfully, sipping her water. “They’re a _matriarchal_ society. And when the males reach mating age and start throwing their weight around in sexual fury, fighting for dominance, the females kick ‘em the hell out of the herd.”

Kie’s grin flashed in the lamplight, and she turned to the fold-out sofa in the living-room.

“The boys weren’t fighting over Sarah Cameron,” she clarified quietly, and Kie frowned gently as she settled into the bed. Sheets and pillows were now always left neatly folded on the sofa for anyone to use.

“They weren’t? Seemed that way to me,” Kie said. “I mean, clearly Topper traded _down_.”

“He can’t seriously think John B’s moving in on his girl?” JJ frowned. Kiara shrugged.

Liv shook her head gently, saying, “They were being dicks to each other because they’re both frustrated…and neither of them have a healthy way to get it out of their systems. They’ve both been ticking time-bombs for months.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” JJ said quietly, his eyes shining in the lamplight as he gazed at John B’s bedroom-door, which stood ajar. John B’s soft snores could already be heard; and Pope was snuffling in the porch. Liv reached to turn off the lamp, and JJ caught her eye. She knew that look. That puppy-dog-eyes look, eyelashes glinting gold, and he gazed earnestly at her.

“ _Please_?” he pouted, and she sighed, smiling softly. _Pleased_.

Because the last thing she wanted, after watching her brother almost be drowned by her ex-boyfriend, was to go to bed alone. She’d just ended up bawling. And JJ… After the fighting on the beach…watching John B… Usually JJ would brush off something like this, violence like this, but…it had touched them - they weren’t just observers; they had been targets. John B had been a target.

JJ knew how to take a hit. And he knew he didn’t deserve the beatings he got. To watch John B take a beating, to watch him not even fight back when Topper almost drowned him…that was jarring to Liv: To JJ? It was his worst nightmare. To see someone he loved be punished the way he was routinely abused.

He climbed into bed beside her, and immediately coiled himself around her for a cuddle. For reassurance. Her hand stung where she had slapped Topper: When JJ draped his arm over her waist, she reached for his hand.

“I thought…” JJ started, breaking off: His voice sounded pained.

She wasn’t the only one shaken. “He’ll be okay, JJ.”

But she didn’t really believe that.

Tonight was just the last in a long string of reckless things John B had gotten himself into that jeopardised the only thing they had left: Each other. Their _family_. DCS caught wind John B had been fighting - worse, if he had ended up in the hospital tonight? She shuddered to think.

She wriggled closer into JJ’s embrace, and put it out of her mind.

He was fine. They were fine. Everything was going to be okay.

JJ’s arms tucked around her, his breathing soft against the back of her neck, his warmth and scent enveloping her like a blanket, she quickly relaxed, and thoughts of John B, of Topper, of DCS, were chased away.

She was with JJ: For now, everything was exactly as it should be.


	8. Author's Note

**Author's Update** :

I'm sorry to disappoint everyone eagerly awaiting an update, this is not what I wanted to have to post.

I've just had notes through from several people (thank you!), telling me that my story has been stolen, turned into a self-insert and posted to _Tumblr_ under the name 'Cruel Summer'.

So, darling _M_ , whoever you are, this is dedicated to you.

Just know I have reported you.

Until your stolen story is removed, there will be no further updates to _Golden Pogues_ \- which is a shame for everyone who genuinely enjoys this story, and a shame for me, because I enjoy writing it.

On your profile, it says you're seventeen years old. You're young, you can make the mistake of thinking _Tumblr_ exists in a vacuum, that there aren't decent people who won't warn others that their work is being stolen.

Use this is as a growth exercise: Instead of taking my work and altering a few words, read it, take on-board what you like about the story, and create something of your own. Use my ideas to scaffold your own: Don't just outright steal them.

It'll be a lot less effort writing your own story than rewriting mine.

* **This story is legitimately posted only on two sites** : On Fanfiction dot net and on AO3, under the same name. If you see it anywhere else, it has been stolen.


	9. Don't Listen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justice. 
> 
> I’d like to say a huge thank you to everyone who has posted reviews and sent me private messages of support. Thank you for waiting patiently for me to update. I’ve been working on job-applications and interviews, which is why it’s taken me longer than I would’ve liked to update. Curse real-life responsibilities! Also, obsession with Star Wars and The Mandalorian has to take some of the blame, though I make no apologies for that!

**Golden Pogues**

_07_

_Don’t Listen_

* * *

“Looks like people are gettin’ their appetite back,” Caius remarked, with some relief, as he flipped burgers and steaks, and Liv pinned a new order up for him, checking the counter for her orders.

“Looks like,” she said softly, smiling, and paused only long enough to yawn into her shoulder before balancing five loaded plates on her arms. Over the last nine months, she had developed asbestos-arms: She could carry _anything_ , no matter what the burning heat did to her skin. She sometimes felt like one of those circus-people who could spin dozens of plates on sticks, balanced on the tip of their toes. All she had to do was get through the next hour, then she could go back to the Château and sleep off the night before.

And what a night.

She’d left John B in his room, sprawled on his stomach, a bruise the colour of an eggplant already flourishing around his eye. He’d be feeling it for weeks, and Liv thought he’d be lucky if he could even open his eye.

Thankfully, Liv had taken precautions so she didn’t feel like John B looked: a tonne of noodles, a tonne of water and _Gatorade_ , and the bike-ride over to the diner in the cool pre-dawn had cleared the cobwebs from her mind. Eye-drops helped, too. Plus, she was sixteen and bounced back like a racquet-ball. She picked up her orders, and made an art-form of evading customers, other servers and wayward coffee-cups slipping off the table as a toddler had a tantrum. She dodged the oatmeal being flung about, noted another waitress heading over with dishcloths and mop - by the look on her face, intending to swat the parents for letting their child misbehave and assume someone else would clean up after them - delivered the meals with a smile, and plucked her order-pad from her apron as she approached her new table with an armful of menus.

“Good morning,” she said brightly, hitching a smile onto her face. Of _course_ they’d be here, in the same clothes they’d worn last night. Of _course_ they’d be sat in her section. Of _course_ Topper’s cheeks flushed with shame and regret as he gaped at her, suddenly embarrassed that she was the one serving them. He’d always been awkward about that, when they’d dated; not because she was _staff_ , but because he didn’t like the way other people treated her when she was working.

“No Sarah today?” she asked gently, glancing at Topper, who shifted uncomfortably in the booth, sprawled in the corner. He raised bloodshot eyes to her, and grimaced subtly.

“Doubt we’ll see her ‘til tomorrow,” he said knowingly. Sarah Cameron had flung herself over that line of drunkenness that signalled humiliation coupled with memory-loss. _She_ wouldn’t remember the hateful things she had said, her sloppy behaviour - could deny hooking up with other boys while her boyfriend bought overpriced pulled-pork sandwiches to take care of her and sober her up so she didn’t hurt herself. She’d embarrassed herself last night; and only they would remember that she had been out of control, aggressive and insulting. The backhanded beauty of alcohol was, she wouldn’t remember her behaviour to be humiliated by it. But they remembered. Topper _definitely_ did.

“Can I get you some drinks to start off with?” she asked, and the boys ordered their coffees, juice and root-beer floats, all of them giving her side-eye. They knew who she was; they had been at the Boneyard to watch the fight. Her hand stung, reminding her. She’d hit Topper. She’d never smacked anyone before. And she didn’t like it.

She also didn’t like watching her brother being drowned.

Liv left Topper and his boys with their menus to peruse, filling their drinks order, and serving several tables their meals, collecting tips and ringing up cheques at the counter. She liked it when it was like this - _busy_. She liked being rushed off her feet, so busy she could barely think straight: It made the hours fly by. And by the way her feet were screaming their protests, it was nearing the end of her shift. She wondered if Caius would ask her to stay; they were back to pre-hurricane levels of business. She carried the boys’ orders over to their table, and continued waiting tables, cleaning up after diners, taking more orders - Caius _did_ ask her to stay on - and dread settled in her stomach when she glanced around, and realised the boys had disappeared.

Leaving empty plates, and an unpaid cheque.

Ordinarily, business-owners kept tabs on the dubious-looking kids lingering by the shelves. In OBX, those kids were the ones busing tables and scrubbing yachts. They weren’t stupid enough to make trouble for themselves being caught stealing. In OBX, it was the pristine, well-dressed kids with money to burn that business owners clocked the second they walked through the door. Entitled, with limitless credit-cards, and zero qualms ditching after dining.

Especially if it came out of the pay-cheque of the pogue kid who waited on them, and was associated with a kid who’d been in a fight with one of their own the night before.

Wounded egos and all that.

She sighed, resisting the urge to rub her face as exhaustion settled on her shoulders, mentally calculating their cheque, wondering how she would tell Caius, feeling physically _sick_ , on the verge of tears as she filled another drinks order, pausing at the window to tell Caius that a group of teenagers had skipped out on their cheque. Someone rang the little bell by the cash-register, and she turned to see Topper. He was waiting shame-facedly at the counter, barely able to raise his eyes to her face.

“How much was it?” he asked quietly. The diner was in one of its lulls, after a hectic lunch-rush, winding down for the day. If they had waited any longer to escape, Liv would have noticed: But they had chosen the perfect time, while everyone was rushed off their feet, to get away. She swallowed, and pulled the cheque out of her apron-pocket, noting that her fingers were trembling. Because she felt physically ill that those boys had snuck out on her watch, leaving a hundred-dollar cheque unpaid.

“It’s a hundred and twenty-two fifty,” she said quietly, and Topper nodded, reaching for his wallet. He counted out the bills, handing them to her. “I…went to the restroom and they were gone. Thought they’d paid.”

“I bet they got a kick out of it,” Liv said, clearing her throat, and Topper nodded, as she rang the transaction through and handed Topper his change with a receipt.

“Yeah, they were laughing their asses off,” Topper said, and Liv sighed, shaking her head.

“Have a good afternoon, Topper,” she said resignedly. She didn’t miss shit like _this_ when she’d been dating Topper. He’d been wonderful: the rest of his world had been atrocious to her. And she knew she deserved better than to be treated like this, purely because of the family she had been born into.

“Hey,” Topper said gently, and she glanced at him; he had his hand outstretched, a bill folded between his fingers. He looked contrite and embarrassed.

“Topper, I’m not taking - “

“It’s your tip.”

“That’s… _more_ than a tip,” Liv said, eyeing the number just visible in the corner.

“Well, you’ve earned it,” Topper said fairly.

“Topper…you can’t try and drown my brother one day and then be nice to me the next, that’s not how it works -“

“I know! It’s not - it’s not because of that,” he said, though his eyelashes fluttered as he glanced at her, his cheeks warm. He reached across the counter, her lips parting as he tucked the money into the pocket of her apron. He glanced into her eyes, and asked quietly, “Is he… He’s okay, right?”

She nodded, sighing heavily, and said, “Yeah. He’s okay.”

“I - “ Topper broke off, uncertain what to say. Liv glanced up as one of the other waitresses approached to take over the cash-register and ring up another diner’s cheque.

“Have a good afternoon Topper,” she repeated, soft and resigned, the $50 bill burning in her apron pocket. He nodded, glancing at the other waitress, and melted out of the diner as a large group appeared, hoping for a table now that the lunch-rush had died down.

“Hey, I thought you’d be off the clock by now,” a familiar voice said, and Liv glanced over her shoulder, taking a bag of takeaway food from the serving-hatch to hand over to a customer waiting patiently.

“Caius asked me to stay on,” Liv told JJ, who leaned across the counter as soon as the customer disappeared out the door, to give her a one-armed hug and kiss her cheek in greeting. His body radiated heat, and his cheeks glowed red, making his blue eyes glow. “What happened to the sunscreen?”

“Sweated it all off,” JJ shrugged. He looked fresh, all showered and wearing clean clothes, his hair curling at the nape of his neck as it dried, smiling easily. She’d bet he smelled good, too. “Just came from Mrs Crain’s house. John B wants to head over to Lana Grubbs’ place.”

“ _What_? Why?” Liv blurted, wiping down the counter as she tucked empty plates away.

JJ sighed, shaking his head. “He’s obsessed with that damn compass.” Liv shot JJ a quick look.

“The _men_ in my _family_!” she grated, shaking her head. “I swear, they get lock-jaw. Chomp onto something and refuse to let it go, ignoring good sense.”

“Yeah, and J.B.’s convinced Miss Lana knows why Scooter had the compass,” JJ said, shaking his head. “You know it’s bad when _I’m_ being sensitive about other peoples’ feelings.”

Liv scoffed, smiling; just his presence cheered her up, made her forget how tired she was, how much her feet hurt, how desperate she was for a cool shower - or just to get out onto the water. “You’re a lot more intuitive than most, JJ,” she said warmly. Yes, John B had the reputation for being a bit of a bleeding heart, compassionate and doe-eyed - but JJ… _got_ people. He understood them, in a way John B never quite managed to. JJ was… _wiser_ than John B, in a lot of ways.

“Anyway…can you come with? John B’s getting all tunnel-vision agitated,” JJ said, and Liv nodded.

“Let me ask. We’re settling down from the rush,” she said, and took opportunity to carry dirty plates into the kitchen for the dishwasher. She never liked to shout through the hatch to ask Caius if she could clock off. She asked; Caius thanked her for staying late, and he put together a BLT with home-fries to take with her.

JJ met her out back, where she had locked up her bicycle; his eyes landed on the takeout container, which she shielded from his reach. His lips twitched, but he dropped his hand, and unlocked her bike for her, pushing it out toward the parking-lot, where John B was waiting in the van, listening to obscure reggae Kie had discovered, cap pulled low over his eyes as the sun beat down. It was breathlessly hot again; Liv hadn’t noticed, thanks to Caius’ air-conditioning. Now, all she wanted was to liberate herself of underwire and makeup and throw herself into the water. JJ tucked her bike into the van, offering her the front-seat; she sat in the back, all too aware that letting either JJ or her brother within reach of her lunch was the surest way to lose it in a matter of minutes.

As she cradled half her BLT in her hands, takeaway box in her lap as John B drove back to the Cut, the boys seemed to forget she was in the back of the van, continuing a conversation that they seemed to have been having when they pulled up to the diner.

“ - I’m just saying, like, I just don’t understand why you don’t at least _try_ with Kiara, she clearly likes you,” JJ said, John B rolling his eyes beside him.

“What I don’t understand is why you’re obsessed about this,” John B said. “And no pogue-on-pogue macking, remember. Them’s the rules.”

“Stupid-ass rules,” JJ retorted. “And Liv would agree you’re in with a shot with Kie. Right, Liv?”

“Uh-huh,” Liv nodded, sighing as she consumed her BLT, scarfing down a handful of fries.

“Don’t pretend that you don’t notice - I see it in your eyes!” JJ grinned. “You’re like ‘I kinda like that’ and you start blushing and shit.”

“I blush?”

“Yeah,” JJ grinned.

“You’re a blusher,” Liv agreed, offering JJ a fry. He winked, chewing as he reached for the dashboard, where the compass glinted in the sunshine, admit hula girls and sparkling glitter-globes.

“Hey, don’t - “

“I’m just looking at it!” JJ said, holding the compass out of reach as John B tried to snatch it. “I gotta admit, your father’s compass in Scooter’s boat…that’s freaky.”

“And that’s why we’re going to talk to Miss Lana,” John B said calmly. “Figure this whole thing out.

“And I’m sure she’d _love_ to talk to us,” JJ said, kicking his feet up on the dash, relaxing into the seat. He opened his mouth for the fry Liv offered him, and sighed. “It’s not like her husband just drowned or anything.”

“Yeah, just drowned sailing a _Grady-White_ out into a hurricane,” John B muttered.

“If I was her, I’d be wondering why he was out in the storm in a boat like that at all,” Liv said quietly. _Especially with nearly a hundred-grand tucked away in a motel-room with a gun and photos of the Merchant_ , she added, and JJ caught her eye over the back of the seat. His eyes dipped to the takeout container, and his lips quirked.

“Hungry?”

“Starving,” Liv said, unabashedly, as she tucked the empty container in the trash-bag they always kept in the back of the van, and emptied nearly every day. Otherwise one of them would’ve been lost to the debris months ago, like that scene in _A New Hope_ in the trash-compactor. Well-fed, she reached for her water-bottle in her backpack, draining it, pulled out a cleansing wipe to remove her makeup, applied moisturiser and sunscreen, and wriggling with her t-shirt, sighing in relief as she tucked her bra into her backpack.

They always knew they were back in the Cut by the state of the roads; potholes and cracks across the roads, overgrown in places by grass and weeds, and John B took a turn onto a dirt-track road, a property boundary-line marked by a redbrick column, on which a colourful sign had been nailed, reading, ‘ _Welcome to Tree Spirit Your Reiki Head-Quarters_ ’. According to Kei, some kind of alternative Japanese healing art that had something to do with palmistry. She waited for JJ to make a crude joke about hand-jobs, but he was back on John B’s inability to “swoop” on Kiara when she so clearly was sending out messages that she’d happily sit on his face.

“JJ, I want you to forever _not_ suggest that image to me, thank you,” Liv said, and JJ grinned licentiously at her as they climbed out of the van, blatantly sweeping his eyes over her. John B flushed as he shut the door. The Grubbs’ house was vibrant sun-washed fuchsia with green trim and shutters, the walls painted with colourful lizards, sunflowers and butterflies, and a lot of care had gone into the flowerbeds.

“Know what this house looks like?” JJ asked, idly reaching for Liv’s hand as they wandered toward the house, insects chirping happily in the tall grasses. “Whoever lives here smokes too much weed.” John B’s lips twitched, mimicking smoking, and Liv gazed at the house.

“I don’t know. It’s pretty - it’s _cheerful_ ,” she said.

“You’re not painting the house pink.”

“She who pays for it paints it,” Liv retorted, and JJ grinned, intertwining their fingers as they wandered through the grass. He did a stutter-step, and Liv frowned, as the sound of something smashing inside the house carried on the still air. Once, maybe they could chalk up to a dropped glass. But then it happened again, as they stepped forward with more hesitancy, and Liv glanced at JJ, frowning as her body tensed.

“ _Bullshit_!” a man’s voice bellowed.

“Maybe we should come back,” JJ said, glancing at Liv, who scanned the house dubiously. “It’s a little too soon.”

“No, no, shut up,” John B hissed, waving his hand, creeping closer. “Shut up, JJ.”

“ _Tell me where it is_ ,” the man inside bellowed, “ _or I’ll fuck you up_.”

That was when they heard a feminine gasp of pain, and Liv stopped, rooted to the spot. She caught JJ’s eye, and he glanced uncertainly at the house.

“ _I’ll sink you in the fucking_ -“

They heard a feminine scream, and both boys ducked away, gasping softly. They shared a wide-eyed look, as Miss Lana screamed, “ _You’re hurting me_!”

“I - “ JJ stammered, some of the colour draining from his face as he eyed the house.

“Shut up,” John B breathed, grabbing JJ’s sleeve. “Come on.” Liv’s lips parted, and JJ’s eyes widened, the sound of things smashing and breaking continuing over the man’s yelling - and Miss Lana’s screams.

“ _Where the fuck is it, you bitch_?”

“ _I don’t know_!” Miss Lana sobbed plaintively, and they hid under the window, pressed against the vibrantly-painted wall. JJ flinched when they heard the sound of someone being hit.

“ _Is it here in this house_?” Miss Lana sobbed, and Liv wished they had repaired the towers. The one time they needed to call the police. “ _Is it somewhere else_?”

“ _Please - I didn’t - I - I_ \- ” The sound of more things breaking, glass smashing, overrode Miss Lana’s sobbed protests.

“You - “ JJ stammered, and John turned on him, finger pressed to his lips.

“Shut up!”

“ _John_ ,” Liv warned, watching JJ carefully.

“Still think we should stay?” JJ asked, his voice low, his hand squeezing Liv’s as they hid under palm fronds. There was a deep _thumping_ noise.

“ _The compass wasn’t in the boat!_ ” Liv, John B and JJ all exchanged a look, as the breath escaped Liv’s lungs; suddenly, they were all very still, and very silent.

Whoever it was, they were tearing Miss Lana’s house apart to find Big John’s compass. Were hurting her over it. The compass that had been tucked on-board the _Grady-White_ that Scooter had been sailing the day of the storm, the day he had died. The day he had been out looking for the _Merchant_ , with a bottle of _Macallan_ and nearly eighty-thousand dollars in cash in his motel-room…with a _gun_. The compass that had been in the Routledge family for generations; and returned to them, after disappearing with their dad, with Liv’s name carved inside a secret compartment.

“ _Where is it_?”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” Miss Lana whimpered, moaning, as glass smashed.

JJ was clenching his jaw, flinching every time they heard a crash, or the sound of someone being hit. He muttered to himself, “Don’t listen.”

“JJ, look at me,” Liv whispered, gently tugging on the hand he was squeezing around hers. He turned wide blue eyes on hers, and she gazed back. He focused on her; not on the sound of Miss Lana being beaten, or her house being smashed to pieces. The sound of her _crying_.

They all flinched as paint-chips rained down on them from the window, and Liv’s lips parted as Miss Lana’s cries echoed so close, she had to be only the other side of the wall. They pressed themselves against the wall, grimacing, hearts hammering in their throats, and by the look on John B’s face, he was regretting coming - but JJ… His breathing was laboured, even as shut his eyes, pressing himself against the wall as if wanting to melt into it; his hand shook as he squeezed hers, his palm damp. Liv shot John B an accusing look. They should have turned back the moment they first heard the man yelling.

“Is that paint?” JJ breathed.

“Yeah, that’s paint,” John B murmured, running his hand through his hair to dislodge the white paint-chips. Inside, Miss Lana wailed in pain.

“ _Let’s get the hell outta here, man_.” Liv glanced up, mouth popping open in panic, and scanned the area. They hadn’t parked beside anyone, or it might’ve been easier to convince John B to come back another time.

John B darted around them, to peek around the corner, as footsteps thumped away from them. Close by, they could hear Miss Lana crying and sniffling, but Liv was focused on JJ, who was struggling to catch his breath, his expression pained as his leg jigged. They heard an engine fire up, and John B ducked away, tucking close to them, as a sleek black speedboat sluiced away through the water.

“That’s not a boat I recognise from the marina,” John B breathed. Liv barely saw the backs of two men, one larger, both built and wearing dark clothing unsuitable for the beach. They weren’t locals.

“Me neither,” she said. And then John B disappeared, around the corner of the house. As JJ sank down the wall, unable to catch his breath, Liv squatted beside him, John B and Miss Lana forgotten. “JJ. _JJ_.” She reached out, cupping his jaw, and turned his face to hers. “Look at me… _You’re safe_.” He blinked at her, then frowned softly. She stroked his cheek tenderly, soothing his rattled nerves, and he took a shuddering breath, nodding, and the tension in his body seemed to uncoil.

And then, because he looked so stricken, and his eyes were so impossibly blue, Liv leaned in, and kissed him. A gentle brush of her lips against his, giving his lower-lip a tiny butterfly-kiss after, and when she leaned back, he was staring at her as if he’d been struck in the face by an anvil. His eyelashes glowed gold as they fluttered, his lips parted, stunned.

Then he untangled their fingers, to slip his through her hair, drawing her closer. Her hands found his neck, his shoulder, holding him close, and his free hand rested, heavy and hot, on her waist, capturing a kiss. It was gentle and slow and searing, and he gasped, and she sighed, and she felt it from her nipples to her toes when his tongue tentatively dabbed at her lower-lip.

“ _Hey_ \- “ someone whispered, and they sprang apart, wide-eyed. Startled, blinking dazedly, Liv glanced up as John B hurtled round the corner, tucking the compass chain into his pocket. He looked as startled as she felt. “Where were you? We gotta go.”

“Is she okay?” Liv asked.

“We’ve gotta go,” John B repeated, already headed for the van. Liv glanced at JJ, who was staring at her lips; she blushed, and raised her hand to trail the backs of her fingers across his lips. He smiled softly, and they clambered off the ground. His smile widened, tucking his arm around her shoulders, as they made their way to the van.

She had _kissed_ him!

And he had kissed her _back_!

He opened the van door for her, and she settled in the back, smiling to herself; he shot her a secret grin as he climbed into the front-seat, and John B reversed the van, turning them around in a great arc before driving away.

Liv shook her head, to clear it of the thought of how soft JJ’s lips were, how warm, and the spike of pleasure that had shot through her body as his tongue swiped across her lip.

She reached for her water-bottle, taking a long swig, and panted, wiping her mouth on the back of her wrist as John B drove toward the Château. _She had kissed JJ_.

Her heart was thumping inside her chest, a smile tugging incessantly at the corners of her lips. Because she could see JJ, and his eyes were sparkling, and he kept licking his lips, flitting his gaze over his shoulder at her.

“So - what’d Miss Lana say?” JJ asked, frowning, as he reached up, to shake the paint from his hair. Liv reached up, frowning to find paint-chips and dust covering her own hair. She’d need to have a shower when they got to the Château. _Thankfully a cold one_ , she thought, eyeing JJ thirstily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s face it, we’re all thirsty for JJ. I hadn’t intended for them to smooth this early on, but it felt natural. And that “Don’t listen” line wasn’t me; that’s canon. That’s JJ telling himself not to listen to someone being beaten to hell.
> 
> Side-note: I think what offended me most about the theft of this story was the thief’s association of my work with a Taylor Swift song. If any album inspired this story (because I alternated bingeing Outer Banks with listening to it while I wrote this fic!) it’s Dua Lipa’s Future Nostalgia. Now that is an anthem. To say I’d considered squinting at my sports-bra to learn the routine to ‘Physical’ as quarantine-exercise is accurate.


End file.
